Bleed
by Evil Authoress Inc
Summary: Mamoru's gone back to college. When he faints after seeing an Usagi lookalike, he knows something is wrong. But he really has no idea, until his world continues to be turned upside down by frat boys. Just trust us. [complete]
1. Chapter 1

Bleed (Just to Know You're Alive)  
  
Written by: Spirit-hime and AngelAnne  
  
Chapter 1  
  
//anything between slashes are thoughts//  
  
--------  
  
"In Freudian psychodynamics, a cathected memory can 'cause' a behavior, motivate it, so to speak. He hypothesized that there are sources of 'psycho...' wait ... 'psychic energy...'"  
  
Chiba Mamoru decided that he had just made a very amusing Freudian Slip, and therefore he could conclude his reading for the night thusly.  
  
"Time for some coffee," he decided, his caffeine-dulled brain screaming out that what it really wanted was sleep. Mamoru never listened to that part of his brain, especially late at night.  
  
He reached for the thermo-mug that was propped perilously on a mountain of textbooks. The titles covered such interesting topics as "Structural Biology and Bioinformatics," "Practical Spectroscopy," "Combinatorial Mathematics," and "Freud and You." He shook the mug critically. Barely a drop left, and the very idea of walking all the way to the cafeteria this late at night only wearied him further. With a deep, mournful sigh, he took out his psychology notes. Caffinated or not, he did have a test tomorrow.  
  
After barely five minutes, already his head began to nod forward. Despite a few half-hearted attempts at shaking himself awake, he was soon sprawled across his notes, his head resting against his arm.  
  
"Mamochan, you're not going to die on the way this time, are you?"  
  
Mamoru could remember Usagi's face, wet with tears, as she held his hands at the airport. "You have to promise me," she'd said. "Because I'm going to be very mad at you if you die again. I won't ever let you go back to college."  
  
"I promise, Usako, I'm not going to die," he had said, and he'd meant it. One fatal plane trip was enough for his liking, even if Galaxia had been nice enough to resurrect him afterwards.  
  
"You... you'll be back soon, right?"  
  
"I'll be here for every holiday."  
  
"And you'll write me every day?"  
  
"Twice, if there's time."  
  
She clung to him so tightly, desperate to hold on to him right to the last moment. Her goldenrod hair twisted into sweet little odango that, even in the clinical lighting of the airport, still shone brilliantly. Even after crying nearly the entire day, she was still the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. "At least California's a little closer, right?"  
  
"Indeed it is." He smiled down at her, biting back the bitterness in the back of his mind.   
  
Okay, so Harvard had given his spot away because he'd been dead for a semester. But it wasn't his fault he was attacked by an evil queen! He couldn't avoid it! He most certainly didn't have health insurance for it!  
  
They told him he'd have to reapply. But Harvard was just too far away; he couldn't come home quickly, to protect Usako if something happened...  
  
"Not that anything would happen!" he added aloud. No, nothing would happen to Usagi while he was here. Everything would be just fine. The Senshi could take care of it; that was their job, after all.  
  
And considering his abilities, there would be little he could do to help anyway. Toss a couple roses, maybe make some virtuous speeches, the usual. Maybe between classes he could write a new speech.  
  
Usagi, noting his silence, looked up at her fiance worriedly. "Are you alright, Mamochan?"  
  
"Everything is fine, Usako. I was just wondering what kind of souvenir I could bring back for you."  
  
"Bring me back ... a movie star!"  
  
Mamoru had laughed then, for quite some time. Even after explaining that Stanford was not anywhere near Hollywood, Usagi was still not convinced. He promised to bring back a piece of Brad Pitt for her. She said she'd like it better if he came back with the whole thing, but a piece would do. They'd laughed quite loudly about it, which disturbed many of the other travelers.  
  
"Mamochan, you know I love you, right?"  
  
"Of course, Usako. Of course I know that. I love you, too..."  
  
He leaned down, his arms trailing around her slight frame. His face was next to hers. Their mouths nearly touching. "I'll always love you..."  
  
"Oh Mamochan, I--"  
  
"GOOD MORNING STANFORD UNIVERSITY! It's time to rise and shine with your favorite campus radio station! I'm your host..."  
  
Mamoru groaned, trying to bury his head further beneath the sleeve of his shirt. He'd hardly managed to get anything done last night, unless psychology can be learned through osmosis. And now, thanks to his brilliant idea of skipping dinner -again-, he had a headache the size of the entire state of California.  
  
Damn that Freud and his brilliant ideas, Mamoru though bitterly, slowly pushing his chair away from his desk. He's going to ruin my sleeping habits yet.  
  
"I need to take a shower," he announced to no one in particular. Unfortunately, he knew that quite a few people would be waiting in line for it; it was Monday morning, and it was likely that many people were trying to clear away their hangovers with either scalding hot or blinding cold water.  
  
He settled for going over to his personal half-bathroom - complete with sink and toilet - and splashing cold water on his face, and runnign a comb through his hair. He now look marginally less like a zombie. He completed the look by changing into a relatively clean shirt, and was sure to use extensive amounts of deoderant. After his books had been stuffed into a backpack that was frayed at the seams from too many heavy loads, he quickly glanced at his alarm clock. If he didn't hurry, he'd miss breakfast too. Maybe he could get some studying in while he ate.  
  
The hallways were bustling with students rushing to early classes and piling into the cafeteria. Nearly everyone was carrying coffee in some form, and to Mamoru it looked like the nectar of the gods right now. He side-stepped a tall guy in a leather jacket, but in his haste, nearly managed to knock over a little blonde girl.  
  
"I'm sorry!" Mamoru blurted out, making sure she wouldn't collapse into a heap. When he looked at her face, he was startled by her eyes. They were so blue and clear, just like Usako's...  
  
"It happens all the time in here," the girl said, smiling pleasantly. "Monday morning rush hour is a mess. Especially for those of us who slept over their alarm."  
  
She brushed an errant strand of blonde hair from her face, and stuck out her hand. "Lunette. Major in Psychiatric Care."  
  
Mamoru accepted Lunette's offered greeting, if a little warily. "Mamoru. Major in Medicine."  
  
Lunette laughed, which sounded near musical to Mamoru's ears. "Oh, I've run into another doctor! What luck! The rest of the med students never seem to get out in the light of day."  
  
Mamoru decided not to mention that he had barely seen any of the surrounding cities, or even much of the campus outside his classes. The less he was distracted, the less the Senshi would want to maim him when he returned home.  
  
And this girl was most definitely distracting.  
  
She curled a strand of golden hair behind her ear. Had Usagi been wearing her hair down, she would nearly pass for this girl--or maybe this girl would pass for her. She smiled sweetly. Usako's smile, he caught himself thinking. "I don't know about you, but I'm starving. Care to join me for breakfast?"  
  
"Um... I..." What was that about maiming? Oh yes, eating a meal with a member of the opposite sex would likely fall under that category, even if he WAS hungry and had not eaten since yesterday afternoon. "Actually, I was just going to grab some coffee. I uh... have some stuff to do before class."  
  
Lunette shrugged--a quick, fluid motion that somehow captured all the poetry of a ballet. "Oh well, maybe I'll catch you next time."  
  
"I'm sure I'll see you around," Mamoru said, trying to sound friendly; not if I want to keep all my limbs, he thought sourly.  
  
"Catch you later then, Mamoru-san," she said, waving to him pleasantly as she disappeared into the crowd.  
  
"'Mamoru-san?'" he asked quietly. How could she have known?  
  
Well, his mind snapped irritably, the shirt proclaiming "MOTO AZABU HIGH SCHOOL; TOKYO, JAPAN" may have been a dead giveaway.  
  
His stomach gurgled impatiently. Darnit, it was bad enough that he'd lied to the girl, but now he would be forced to skip yet another meal. Maybe he could grab a muffin or something from the campus Starbucks. He made his way back down the hall, away from the cafeteria from which the sweet scent arteficial egg products drifted.  
  
It's too bad, too. She was awfully cute.  
  
No, no, NO, darnit, I refused to think of any woman in that way except Usako! The fact that she just happens to look exactly like Usako doesn't mean anything. My Usa is a thousand times prettier.  
  
He was following this train of thought, weaving through the flow of traffic, when something seized up in his chest.  
  
Mamoru stumbled, weighed down by the heavy load of textbooks, as he found himself unable to breathe properly. No oxygen was coming to him, try as he might to heave and wheeze painfully.  
  
His vision dipped in and out of blackness as he collapsed in the middle of the unfeeling student mob scene. As he fell, he thought ran into someone; well, something soft, at least, before he blacked out completely.  
  
"Hey buddy, you alright?"  
  
A blurred object hovered in the center of Mamoru's vision. He blinked, attempting to bring it into focus, until it finally revealed itself to be a face. Deep green eyes looked at him with the lightest hint of concern. Fine white hair draped around the man's face as he bent down.  
  
"Kunzite?" Mamoru had not meant to say it; the word just blurted out.  
  
"No," the blur drawled, confused. "Malachi. Maybe we should get you to the nurse."  
  
Mamoru cursed himself quietly; Kunzite? He'd been dead for years! Why would that name, if any, come to his lips?  
  
"I'm fine," he said, breath labored. He'd just go to class, like always, forget that Lunette girl--  
  
He nearly collapsed again, and only the blur's arm kept him from falling to the floor.  
  
"That doesn't make me think you're fine," the blur said, brushing hair from his face in a long-suffering fashion.  
  
Mamoru did not answer, preferring instead to concentrate on the painful effort of breathing. The guy who called himself Malachi had already lugged Mamoru's heavy backpack onto his own shoulder and was leading him back down the hallway, an arm slung around his back for support.  
  
As they walked, his vision began to clear a bit. They were walking near a window when he spotted something in the shady branches of a tree. He peered at it a moment, trying to figure out what it was, when it revealed itself to be a blue-haired girl, perched in the boughs and staring right back at him. Okay, maybe seeing the nurse would be a good idea after all.  
  
"...you going to?"  
  
"Nnngh?" replied Mamoru eloquently.  
  
"What class were you going to?" Malachi repeated, in a patient fashion.  
  
"Freud 102," he managed to croak. He was guided carefully to a nearby bench, since he was obviously not going to get to the nurse under his own power. He slumped down, thankful for the rest. Malachi deposited both their backpacks on the floor and took a seat across from him.  
  
"I suggest you email your instructor. There's no way you're going to make it all the way to the psychology department in your condition."  
  
Mamoru nodded vaguely. Darnit, barely a few weeks into school and already he was missing a class. This was just not his day.  
  
When he could breathe a little easier he muttered, "thanks for your help."  
  
Malachi gave him a friendly, lopsided grin. "You practically fell into my arms. What was I supposed to do, drop you on the floor and move on?"  
  
"Well, I hate to sound jaded," Mamoru said, smirking, "but I'd hardly expect anything different."  
  
"Do you make those kind of assumptions for every person you don't know?"  
  
"Not always." Mamoru rubbed his chest. "But I haven't made too many friends on this campus" mostly for lack of trying "and don't usually turn to strangers for help."  
  
"I must not be so much of a stranger to you," Malachi said, never losing his quirky smile. "You seemed to think you knew my name."  
  
Mamoru once again cursed his carelessness. Accidently call a guy by the name of a former enemy whose organization was bent on the sucking of energy and the general domination of Earth. Smooth, Mamochan. Very smooth. "Sorry about that. I guess you reminded me of someone else."  
  
"Not someone who would have left you there, I hope?"  
  
No. Someone more likely to try and fry me before I could get up again. "No. I don't think he would have."  
  
"Well, I know the name of this friend, but I've yet to learn yours."  
  
"Sorry about that. Guess I was a little preoccupied with the whole fainting deal. Mamoru. Major in Medicine."  
  
They shook hands, Malachi nearly crushing his. "Malachi. Major in Geological Science."  
  
Ah, what irony then, that he'd called this man the name of a mineral. Still, it wasn't his fault he looked like someone Mamoru would rather forget.  
  
"So what year are you?" Mamoru asked, shaking his hand to recover some of the feeling in it.  
  
"Fourth." Malachi opened his mouth, presumably to return the question, but then seemed to change his mind. "You're not from around here, are you?"  
  
"Well gosh, does my Azabu shirt give it away?"  
  
"I was more referring to your accent, but that shirt is a little blatant."  
  
"My accent can't be that thick. You seem to understand me well enough."  
  
"Naw, you're better than some of my professors. At least you've yet to butcher my name."  
  
"Well, to answer your question: yes, I'm from Tokyo."  
  
"That's odd."  
  
"Hey, California is no basket of peaches, thank you very much."  
  
"No, I mean it's odd that you've barely met anyone here. In my experience, you people usually travel in herds."  
  
"Well contrary to popular belief, there are very few cows in Japan."  
  
Malachi paused, apparently thinking about it, and then burst out laughing.  
  
"What's so funny?" Mamoru inquired, trying to look serious.  
  
"I just imagined Tokyo clogged with a bunch of cows."  
  
He couldn't take it; he, too, had to laugh at that. He could imagine Motoki's face when the Crown Fruit Parlor was clogged to the brim with cows in schoolgirl uniforms...  
  
Mamoru's laughter was cut short when he suddenly caught sight of the same girl who had been perched in the tree earlier. Her long light blue hair swirled around her pale features. He could not help but notice she had the same sad, liquid eyes as his own Ami. However, the dark, tight-fitting clothing was hardly something that little Ami-chan would dare put on, even if you paid her. She had on dark lipstick, heavy eyeshadow. And she was coming this way.  
  
"Is...that a friend of yours?" Malachi asked, trying to mask his surprise. She didn't exactly look like someone Mamoru would hang out with.  
  
"No," Mamoru said, uncertain. It looked like someone he knew, but not in any of the right ways.   
  
"Are you Chiba Mamoru?" she asked huskily, her accent undiscernable.  
  
Mamoru gulped. "Yes, I am. You are...?"  
  
"You can call me A'Marie." She smiled dangerously. "Lunette told me you ran into her this morning."  
  
"Literally," he said, hazarding the smallest of smiles himself. "How did you know I was the same guy?"  
  
"Your Azabu shirt gave you away."  
  
Mamoru sighed under his breath. This was just not his day. "What can I uh... do for you?"  
  
A'Marie was adjusting her top in no discrete way. He was not sure whether she was trying to reveal more cleavage or not, though she was definitely getting results. Mamoru preoccupied himself with staring at the top of her head, while nervously trying to slide farther down the bench.  
  
"I can think of a whole lot you can do for me." The way she was standing was probably meant to be seductive, though neither man was impressed.  
  
"Excuse me?" Mamoru said, raising his eyebrows.  
  
"But I'm not here to talk about me." Which was good, Mamoru thought, because he would rather like to get to the heart of the matter, such that this girl would go away.  
  
"Lunette wanted me to invite you out to lunch with us. That is, if you've recovered from this morning."  
  
Truth be told, Mamoru had been feeling much better for awile. Sitting with Malachi had somehow managed to calm his nerves, and his chest muscles. But as soon as Lunette was mentioned, he felt his lungs seize up again. He steeled himself in an effort to keep from coughing, an action that did not go unnoticed to his male companion's eyes.  
  
Wait... this morning? How could they possibly know about that?  
  
"Thanks, but I'm busy this afternoon. I've uh... got studying to do." And I don't want to come within fifty feet of you or your Usako lookalike.  
  
"You aren't coming." The girl's voice had taken on a very soft, dangerous tone.  
  
"Um, no. Sorry."  
  
"Oh. I see." She was moving closer, her hips swaying with every step. He resisted the urge to run, writing such an action off as bad manners, and instead sat rooted on the spot.  
  
"I'm afraid that might be a problem."  
  
"Will it?" Malachi finally spoke, looking a lot more erect and aware than he had for most of the conversation.  
  
But she ignored him. Her eyes were fixed on Mamoru only. "I'll give you another chance to change your mind." Her tone implied that it would be very, very wise to do so.  
  
"No, no thank you. I really do need to study."  
  
A'Marie strode over to Mamoru, leaning her barely covered bust right under his nose as she stared at him. "Is that your final answer?"  
  
"I'm pretty sure it is, yes."  
  
That was, apparently, not the answer she was looking for. She punched him.  
  
Though the girl may have had Ami-chan's appearance, she by no means shared her strength. Mamoru was nearly knocked to the floor from the force of her knuckles, and only prevented himself from doing so by clinging to the bench. Malachi was already on his feet. He grabbed A'Marie by the shoulder and forcibly shoved her away from Mamoru. "The heck is your problem lady?"  
  
"My -problem-? My friend, I think this is very much your problem! Mercury Crystal Power! Make Up!"  
  
Had Mamoru been a surfer, his response to A'Marie's action would have been something to the effect of, "bummer." He swore under his breath, and turned to Malachi with his face set stone-hard. "Malachi, get out of here. Go get help; get the campus police, another student, anyone."  
  
"But--" Malachi was not about to leave him with this mad woman. Especially when he looked like he was going to pass out again.  
  
"Just go!" Mamoru barked, with all the authority he could muster. For a reason Malachi could not understand, the tone of Mamoru's voice sounded eerily familiar, and it made him snap to attention. With a sharp nod, he dashed off in the direction of the nearest building.   
  
"That desperate to get me alone, huh?" A'Marie smirked. Her outfit barely resembled the real Sailor Mercury's, and could only be described as hideous. [1]  
  
"Hardly," Mamoru sneered, trying to stand. Every time he got to his feet, the world began to spin and his vision went black. His breathing was strained, and seemed to consume all his energy. With one hand clinging to the back of the bench, he transformed into Tuxedo Kamen, figuring it could hardly make matters worse.  
  
Indeed, as soon as the transformation had finished, he found himself a lot more steady.  
  
"So I see your motive is hardly taking me out to lunch. What are you after?"  
  
A'Marie giggled, and not in a nice way. "Silly, silly Prince. You know what I'm after."   
  
"...I do?" he muttered. Well, she sure wasn't after the Ginzuishou, since that was hundreds of miles west of his current location.  
  
So by default, that only left...  
  
"I'm afraid I'm not available."  
  
"That hardly matters to me. Mercury Aqua Rhapsody!"  
  
Despite his best efforts to dodge, Mamoru was still engulfed in a mountain of icy water. He spluttered and shook droplets out of his hair, making a mental note to never make Ami-chan angry. Before she could blast him again, he flicked his hand, and a shimmering red rose appeared.  
  
"Do you think that scares me?" A'Marie snarled. Mamoru didn't answer; he merely threw the rose at her and, with perfect aim, it drew a long, shallow cut along her bare arm.  
  
"Bitch! Shine Aqua Illusion!"   
  
Mamoru tried to roll away from the freezing water that hurled itself towards him, but he wasn't fast enough, and he cursed out of shock and pain when he found his legs frozen together.  
  
A'Marie grinned savagely. "Oh dear, looks like my target has stopped moving already. Things a little chilly there, luv?"  
  
Mamoru growled a less than polite reply, and changed his tactics. If roses failed to have any effect, something a little stronger would be needed. "Tuxedo la Smoking Bomber!"  
  
The explosion caught the false Sailor Senshi dead-on, momentarily wrapping her in a curtain of smoke. For a moment he was certain that had been enough. His hopes were dashed, however, when her laughter began to ring through the thickness. "My goodness, that was amusing. But I'm afraid I must put an end to these childish games. Mercury Aqua Mirage!"  
  
Mamoru cried out as his entire body was locked beneath a sheet of solid ice, his neck and head barely escaping.   
  
"Now, here's a question." A'Marie looked at her hand, as though examining her nails. "Do I leave you there to freeze, so you will suffer slowly, or do I cover your head in ice, so you will die immediately?"  
  
She laughed; it sounded hollow to Mamoru's ears. "I've never been mistaken for merciful."  
  
He could almost feel his body slowing down. //Usako, I'm sorry,// he thought, as he felt himself dip from consciousness. //How could I be so weak?//  
  
A'Marie laughed at him again, watching in terrible amusement as he froze to death before her eyes.  
  
That was when the glowing started.  
  
It began at his chest, shining through the crystalline ice, but it spread rapidly, engulfing his entire body. It was golden. Like the sun. Like Usako's hair. He could feel himself growing warmer, stronger. With a tremendous snap, the ice shattered, freeing him from its prison. No longer hindered, the light shot out, seeming to flood all the world with its brilliance.  
  
The moment it touched her, A'Marie began to scream. Like a vampire in the sunlight, she was being destroyed by the very presence of the golden aura, reduced to dust before Mamoru's eyes. Her screams, too, soon diminished, and all that remained of her were a few motes of dust that vanished in the breeze.  
  
The glowing slowly began to fade, and Mamoru stood up shakily.  
  
"That was...strange," he murmured, looking at the place where the false Senshi had been standing moments before. An enemy, here? What were the odds?  
  
When he heard voices coming up behind him, he panicked. Explaining his sudden acquiring of a tuxedo would be difficult, at best. Fortunately for him, all of his energy seemed to drain out at once, and he pitched forward in exhaustion as his outfit faded into jeans and a t-shirt.  
  
He lost consciousness before he even hit the ground.  
  
"It's no wonder you're majoring in medicine. At the rate you're going, you need a personal doctor just to get by every day."  
  
Mamoru made a sort of half-groan in reply. He was laying on one of the benches, his head propped against Malachi's jacket. Malachi himself was quite occupied with getting a couple bottles of water from the nearby Desani machine.  
  
"I'm usually not this bad, I'll have you know," Mamoru grumbled, rubbing his head. //I don't usually have a Sailor crystal with a mind of its own,// he added silently.  
  
"I should hope not," Malachi replied wryly, opening one of the bottles and handing it to Mamoru. His companion smiled in return. "Professors usually aren't keen on fainting spells in the middle of a lecture."  
  
"They like it in the classes I take; it gives the future doctors a chance to show off their skills."  
  
"Ah yes, I can see it now. 'Get this boy some goserelin acetate, stat!'"  
  
Mamoru nearly choked on his water. "That's for breast cancer!"  
  
He shrugged. "I blame ER."  
  
"Well I don't think I've hit menopause yet, but thank you for your concern."  
  
This time, it was Malachi's turn to choke on his water.  
  
"Are we even now?" Mamoru asked, trying to conceal a smile.  
  
"I suppose," Malachi relented. "But at least give me fair warning when it's your time of the month."  
  
"You know, if I knew you any better, I would have to hit you for that remark."  
  
"Good thing you don't know me any better."  
  
Mamoru leaned against the back of the bench, feeling some small shred of his strength returning. Well, at least I'm not passing out at the moment, he thought bleakly. "Thanks for your help, Malachi. I'm feeling a bit better now."  
  
"Do you need me to walk you to your dorm, or can you survive without me for ten minutes?"  
  
"I think I'll be fine." With some amount of effort, he pushed himself upright and got to his feet.  
  
And promptly collapsed.  
  
"Which part of that was fine?" Malachi asked, pulling Mamoru to his feet again.  
  
"The part where I was on my feet for five seconds."  
  
"Oh yes, that screams 'healthy' to me." Malachi shook his head. "Look, it's not like I can just leave you here. Either we're going to sit here for awhile, make a visit to the nurse, or go to your dorm. The key word of that last sentence being 'we.'"  
  
"I can't ask you to--"  
  
"Then don't ask." For reasons Malachi could not fathom, he was feeling very protective of this man who, hours before, was a complete stranger. It was a bizarre feeling, but not altogether unfamiliar, which just made it more bizarre.  
  
Mamoru could hardly argue with that. Mostly because the only thing keeping him standing was this man's arm. He never asked for help from anyone, not even his closest friends, which was a fact that Usako always complained about. "Mamochan, please tell me when something's wrong," she'd whine, her blue eyes sparkling up at him. "You always suffer alone. You never let anyone near you when you're hurting. Please, just let someone help you once in a while!"  
  
Well she'd certainly be happy now, wouldn't she? For no reason he could think of other than sheer necessity, he was placing complete trust in someone who, for all intents and purposes, could easily be seen as a threat. The guy did look an awful lot like a former enemy, after all, and they'd only just met today. But nevertheless, he felt nothing but trust towards the guy who called himself Malachi, and knew he was in no position to question that trust.  
  
"Alright," he sighed. "I'll let you walk me to my dorm. But I do owe you for this."  
  
"No, you don't. But we'll argue about it later." Malachi helped Mamoru to his feet, being sure his strong arm was fully supporting the man's somewhat shivering frame.  
  
Strangely, Mamoru couldn't help but notice that this position felt familiar; as though, in another time or place, this man had helped him out before. But that was impossible. The only person Malachi resembled was a sadistic bastard with no redeeming qualities, except for the fact that he was now long dead.  
  
//Or perhaps not,// he thought, now feeling somewhat less reassured about the trust he was placing in his new-found acquiantence.  
  
Of course, there was another person who looked exactly like Malachi, someone who did not make his blood run cold, and who would not decidedly gut Mamoru for the fun of it. But that person was in a circumstance much more permanant than death, and currently resided on Mamoru's bedside table. There was no question about whether Malachi was this person. Resurrection of a former enemy would be far more likely.  
  
"...is it?"  
  
Mamoru looked up. "What?"  
  
"I said, which building is it?"  
  
"Oh. That one."  
  
"You know," Malachi said, smirking, "you're awfully distracted, for someone who wants to be a doctor. I expect you types to be focus and attentive, but that's the second time I've had to repeat myself."  
  
"Hey, give a little slack to the sick," Mamoru grumbled. "I'm usually a little more aware than this."  
  
//I usually don't get chest spasms when I see girls that look like Usako, as well,// he grumbled to himself. //What's with me today?//  
  
"...you on?"  
  
"Whuh?"  
  
Malachi sighed in mock-exasperation. "'Usually a little more aware,' he says. I said, 'what floor are you on?'"  
  
"Fifth."  
  
"We'll take the elevator, then. I'm not hauling you up five flights of stairs."  
  
"You know, for someone so nice, you certainly pick on me a lot."  
  
"Sorry about that," he said, not the least bit apologetically. "I live in a frat house with twenty-six other guys. Insults are generally the only accepted form of communication."  
  
"Ah. That explains why your so patient, then."  
  
"You don't have three drunk guys break down your door at three a.m. without learning patience."  
  
"I see," Mamoru said, mildly disturbed by that. He was, at any rate, thankful he had not joined any of the fraternities he had been invited to. They never seemed conducive to any of the things he intended to do at Stanford like, say, learning.  
  
The men climbed into the elevator, thankful that no one else was in it, because their situation would probably take a bit of explaining.  
  
"Mamoru...That girl. Who was she?"  
  
Oh yeah. That might need some explaining. But what could he possibly say, that she was a fake sailor senshi who apparently wanted him dead? Unlike the other senshi, who had parents and close friends to deal with, Mamoru barely ever had to explain away the demons, aliens, and various otherworldly enemies in his life. And for that matter, he hardly understood himself what she was, other than some psycho with bad taste in clothing and a few too many sparkly powers. Usually bad guys had a lot of fun proclaiming their missions and organizations. This one was simply hell-bent on freezing him to death.  
  
Malachi was watching him questioningly. "I really don't know," Mamoru replied honestly.  
  
Apparently satisfied with that answer, Malachi asked nothing more. The elevator ride was silent until they reached the fifth floor.  
  
"Can you make it to your room, or should I walk you there?"  
  
Mamoru gestured to the room 502, which was a mere six paces away. "I think I can manage."  
  
"You said that before."  
  
"...shut up. This time, I really can manage."  
  
"Uh huh."  
  
"I'll prove it!" Mamoru snapped, pulling away from Malachi's support. He took three steps, stumbled, but caught himself. He rummaged around in his pocket for his key, all the while looking sweaty and pale.  
  
"See? I'm just fine," Mamoru said, smiling as his door unlocked.  
  
He collapsed just as the door opened, finding himself with a faceful of carpet.  
  
"You're a bloody awful liar," Malachi muttered, pulling his friend off the floor. Mamoru said nothing as he allowed himself to be led through the door into his apartment; he was having difficulty breathing again. It was a relatively small room, with little more than a bed, a desk, a dresser, and a mini-fridge. Malachi shut the door and maneuvered Mamoru over to the bed, where he slumped down, his chest heaving.  
  
"I don't know if I should leave you alone like this. You look terrible."  
  
"I'll be fine, really. I just need to… get some rest…"   
  
The white-haired man looked unconvinced. "Look, I'll leave you my number. You can call me if you need help."  
  
Mamoru thought to reply in thanks, but he was too exhausted to do anything of the sort. His head fell to the side as he slipped into unconsciousness.  
  
Malachi grabbed a nearby piece of scratch paper and scribbled his number on it. With a defeated, worried sigh, he locked Mamoru's door, and exited.  
  
When Mamoru woke again, he was shivering. His breathing seemed to come a little easier now, though it still felt a little more difficult than normal. Carefully, so as not to cause himself to black out again, he kicked his shoes off and slid under the covers. Despite his exhaustion, however, he found himself unable to go back to sleep. Too many questions plagued his mind, too many issues were running through his brain.  
  
He turned to look at the table by his bed. Malachi's note rested there reassuringly, a small comfort to him right now when he could not even stand for more than five seconds. Four objects sat there, shining-almost glowing-in the dim light. He had carried them with him from Japan-possessions that were as prized to him as Usako's letters-and he always kept them nearby.   
  
He took the four stones into his hand, and they clacked quietly as he cupped them all together. He closed his eyes-slowly, so as not to pass out again-and they started to glow.  
  
"Prince?" The voice was quiet, but strong and reassuring.  
  
"Kunzite." Mamoru let out a sigh, out of frustration and exhaustion.   
  
"Is there something wrong?" Zoisite interjected, and his stone seemed to be nudged around by another.  
  
"Shh, they're having a private moment," Jadeite said, and if he'd had a mouth, he certainly would have been smiling.  
  
Kunzite ignored them both. "What is it?"  
  
"I need to talk to you."  
  
No sooner had Mamoru spoken than a ghostly figure appeared next to him, kneeling in midair just above his bed. An unseen wind gently shifted the long white hair that framed the man's face. He was dressed in a white uniform, trimmed in shining gold, with a dark brown cape that unfurled in the same mysterious wind. He was partially transparent, like a living hologram--though he would be the first to attest that he was very much not living right at the moment.  
  
"Something's wrong." Kunzite didn't even need to ask a question. He knew. Aside from Mamoru's unhealty skin tone and general appearence, there was a look in his eyes that quickly betrayed his confusion.  
  
Mamoru sighed. "I met a girl in the cafeteria this morning who looked just like Usako. Every time I think about her, I feel physically ill."  
  
Kunzite nodded, anticipating that the story wasn't over yet.  
  
"I was attacked by a Sailor Mercury lookalike," he continued, grabbing his pillow and punching it in frustration. "I managed to destroy her somehow, but it was incredibly draining, and not before she nearly froze me to death. The weirdest part is..."  
  
Kunzitel looked at his prince expectantly, but Mamoru wasn't sure how to go on.  
  
"All of those times, I was helped by a man who looks just like you."  
  
The one word to describe Kunzite's expression was "nonplussed." "Just like me, Prince?"  
  
It was impossible, Kunzite knew. He was a rock. A very small, solid, inanimate rock. He was not cavorting about the campus, helping his prince, though he desperately wanted to. The idea that there was a copy of him running around, befriending Mamoru for unknown motives, gave him serious concern.  
  
"Yes, exactly like you. Supposing you walk around dressed as a university student, that is. And I know I should be careful of him, I mean there was a girl who looked like Ami, but all she wanted to do was turn me into a popsicle. But I keep finding myself putting my trust in him. And weirdly enough, he just keeps on helping me."  
  
Kunzite could see why that in itself would distress his Prince. He knew very well that Mamoru had issues with depending on people, even those he knew well. But Kunzite was not so concerned about this as he was with the person's identity. Why would someone show up looking like one of the Prince's former guardians and conveniently help him out when he's distressed? Could it be some kind of trap?  
  
"I didn't sense anything about him, though," Mamoru continued, seeming to read Kunzite's thoughts. "He was just like a normal person."  
  
"Except that he looks like me."  
  
"I suppose that eliminates the 'normal person' part," Mamoru said, smirking mildly. "But my point being, he didn't feel like you."  
  
After a pause, he added, "Well, the more recent you."  
  
The comment caused Kunzite to wince visibly. He knew the Prince had not intended it as an insult, but the memories of that part of his life were still troubling, and the less the thought about them, the more likely it was that he would stay sane.  
  
"I'm sor--" Mamoru started to apologize, seeing his friend's discomfort, but Kunzite held up a hand to interrupt him.  
  
"Don't worry about it, Prince. I understand what you mean. He reminded you more of myself, not that abomination that served Beryl."  
  
Mamoru sighed, inwardly cursing his stupidity. He tried to avoid the subject of the Dark Kingdom when talking with his guardians, especially Kunzite, but it was a difficult thing to simply forget about, and somehow it seemed to come up between them time and again. He knew how hard it must be to move on from a time like that, especially when one spent the majority of his time sealed in isolation, locked away with little more than his own thoughts to keep him company. "Exactly," he continued, trying to cover his tracks. "He looked like you, Kunzite. His eyes were just like yours."  
  
Kunzite shook his head. "I just don't see how that can be possible."  
  
"I don't see it, either," Mamoru said, punching his pillow again. He didn't understand this, and it made him frustrated. Not knowing the full story always made him edgy. He felt like he wasn't in control of anything.  
  
"I'm sorry, Prince. If I come up with anything..." Kunzite trailed off. He didn't know what he could possibly come up with, but perhaps the others would have some ideas.  
  
"I just get the distinct impression that if he'd wanted to kill me, he would have done it one of the first six times I collapsed," Mamoru said, not sure who he was trying to convince.   
  
A look of concern crossed Kunzite's face. "What's this about you collapsing?"  
  
Oops. "I said..."  
  
"You said 'physically ill'; you never said anything about collapsing. Why didn't you tell me?"  
  
"...I didn't want you to worry?"  
  
"Well that's very noble of you, Prince, but I think your health is just a tad more important at this point."  
  
"Well..." Mamoru couldn't really argue with that. "Okay. So 'physically ill' was somewhat of an understatement. My point being: if he wasn't to be trusted, I think he would have proven it by now."  
  
Kunzite looked dubious, and not without good reason. He said nothing, but it was obvious there was something he wanted to say.  
  
"Kunzite? Cat got your tongue?"  
  
"I just..." Kunzite paused. "I just don't want you getting hurt. Especially by my apparent long-lost twin, or whoever this guy turns out to be."  
  
Mamoru smiled. "Stop worrying so much, alright? I'm sure this'll turn out to be nothing. I can take care of myself, you know."  
  
"I know, I know. I just... wish I could be there to help you, is all." His eyes refused to meet Mamoru's, preferring instead to study the carpet.  
  
"I..." He choked on the word as pain suddenly twisted in his chest. He fell back on the bed, gasping and shaking.  
  
"Prince!" Kunzite rushed to his side, but could do little more than hover over him frantically.  
  
"I'll be fine," he wheezed, trying to steady his breathing. "I...I just need to get some sleep. I'm thinking too hard."  
  
Kunzite wanted to respond, but bit his tongue and relaxed a bit. "Prince, please, take it easy. It won't benefit anyone if you have to face a new enemy if you aren't to your full capacity."  
  
"I know." Mamoru sighed. "Thank you, Kunzite."  
  
"Of course, Prince." Slowly, reluctantly, the hologram faded, and was nothing more than a small pink stone on the carpet. Mamoru reached over slowly and picked up the stone, placing it with the others back on his bedside table. He looked at Malachi's note and sighed. This was all far too complicated.  
  
Mamoru knew he should email his professors to apologize for failing to appear in class. But he felt so tired, he couldn't even work up the energy to walk all the way to his computer. And it was only 1 PM.  
  
With a hearty sigh, Mamoru leaned back on his bed, hoping he could get in a nap and wake up refreshed. Not ten minutes later, the man had drifted into a dreamless sleep. He was not awake long enough to hear shoes clicking sharply down the hallway, pausing briefly, and then continuing on their way until they faded entirely.  
  
In his sleep, he could not see the single, blood-red rose that lay on his doorstep, along with a book of matches.  
  
-------  
  
[1] Really. It can only be described as hideous. Our inspiration was Naoko-sama's first concept sketches for the Inner Senshi costumes.  
  
http://mangastyle.astraldream.net/materials/mat-03.jpg  
  
Ami is the one on the far right. I hope this explains our decidedly lacking description. Thanks to Manga Style for the scan!  
  
Lots of Mamochan torture ahead; get out your tissues. (Believe it or not, we really do love him. He just needs some angst to get the fanfic justice he deserves.)  
  
...we also just like torturing characters.  
  
Disclaimer: Chiba Mamoru, and all Sailor Moon related themes belong to Takeuchi Naoko, Toei, Bandai, etc etc etc. This is a work of fanfiction; we are not making any profit from it. A'Marie and Lunette are ours, but why you'd want them, we have no idea. The titled, Bleed (Just to Know You're Alive) has been derived from Goo Goo Dolls' "Iris;" we don't claim to own that, either. 


	2. Chapter 2

Bleed (Just to Know You're Alive)  
  
Written by: Spirit-hime and AngelAnne  
  
Chapter 2  
  
//anything between slashes are thoughts//  
  
--------  
  
//Hot... it's so hot...//  
  
Mamoru struggled to claw his way into consciousness. His chest had seized up again, bringing with it a searing pain in his lungs that caused him to cough violently. There was a constant roaring in his ears, and he felt unbelievably hot beneath his blankets. He forced his eyes open.  
  
And saw that his own illness wasn't to blame.  
  
His room was on fire. Very, very much on fire. Flames lept around the edge of his bed, coming first through what remained of his doorway.   
  
//Okay, Mamoru, don't panic. Grab what's important, and get out of here.// First, he rummaged around desperately in his desk for four very important little stones. Finding them quickly, he shoved them into his pocket. He considered making a grab for Usako's letters on his desk, but he didn't know if they were worth risking life and limb for.  
  
//What a stupid idea. Of course they are.// With a smirk, Mamoru carefully swung his legs off the end of his bed. Even though his breathing was not to full capacity, and the room was filling with smoke, he managed to make a leap across the small room and to his desk. Thankfully, it had not yet become ashes, and he grabbed a small stack of papers, tied together with a pink ribbon.  
  
"Time to get out," he announced, to no one in particular.  
  
"Oh, you think so, do you?"  
  
He would have liked to whip around, but considering how wobbly his legs felt, he had to make due with turning slowly. A figure stood framed by the flames, grinning maliciously. She was dressed in an equally hideous sailor fuku as the false Sailor Mercury who had come before her. "And you are?"  
  
"Some people call me Rain. Ha! Rain of Fire! Get it?"  
  
"Right," Mamoru coughed, unimpressed. "I'm gonna go now, Rain."  
  
"Oh, right. You can't be doing that."  
  
The fire was drawing nearer. Mamoru was sure the hair on his knuckles was being singed. The only door was all but obliterated. "And why the heck not?"  
  
"Mostly because it's my job to kill you. Nothing personal."  
  
"Well, you can't be doing that, either."  
  
Rain smiled. It was not a nice smile. "And who says I can't?"  
  
"...I do."  
  
The woman's giggle was positively eardrum-shattering. "Now I'm scared!"  
  
Mamoru growled low in his throat. The flames had begun to lick his feet; he would have to take drastic measures to get out now.  
  
"Trying to escape, are you? Too bad." Rain's tone of voice implied that it wasn't really such a bad thing.  
  
Before Mamoru could spout off an angry reply, the strange false Senshi gathered a fiery arrow in her hands.  
  
"Mars Flame Sniper!"  
  
Shoving Usagi's letters in his other pocket, Mamoru lunged to the side, but not by enough. The arrow grazed his arm, and he swore loudly as it nearly took the whole thing off.  
  
"Now that's what I like to hear!" Rain chirped.  
  
Mamoru took a breath to shout some obscenity, but ended up with a mouthful of smoke, and was taken by a coughing fit instead. The flames had him nearly backed against the wall. Behind him was a window, which he would have eagerly used as an escape route, had it not been painted shut.  
  
"Aww, is the smoke making the poor boy cough? Here, lemme help you. Fire Soul!"  
  
His dodge was even less successful than the last time, and the tendrils of fire bore straight down upon him. The force of the fiery blast knocked him backwards.  
  
Right through the window.  
  
As he flew through the air, shattered glass all around him, Mamoru wasn't sure whether he was thankful that a row of tall shrubs broke his fall on his way down. On one hand, it was five stories, and if he'd hit the pavement, he would have made quite the mess of the pavillion. On the other hand, falling on sharp thorny twigs was not exactly high on his list of recreational activities, especially since he was feeling scortched, scratched and otherwise abused. The only way he could sum up exactly how he was feeling was with a half-hearted moan.  
  
Rain leaned down and peered through the remains of the window. "Aww, did you get a boo-boo?"  
  
Mamoru resisted the urge to tell her where she could shove her baby talk. He struggled to pull away from the shrubs, but between his limbs and his clothing, he was too far entangled in the gnarled branches.  
  
Flames were erupting from the window he had come through mere moments before, blazing around Rain, who seemed completely oblivious to their heat. Mamoru watched helplessly as the place he had called home for the past several weeks was being reduced to ashes, and was steadily taking several other homes with it. Sirens began to sound in the distance, and as the howling and flashing lights drew closer, Rain glanced up at the fire trucks distractedly. Seizing his chance, Mamoru frantically tore away from the branches, and took off at a run. By the time she looked down again, all that could be seen were a few scraps of clothing hanging wistfully from the limbs.  
  
The running was short-lived. He managed to get a safe distance away from the burning building before his legs gave out. He collapsed beneath a small gathering of trees, their shadows temporarily shielding him from the revealing glow of nearby streetlights.  
  
"That was a valiant attempt at escaping." Rain stepped out from an adjacent shadow, brushing an errant strand of dark violet hair from her eyes.   
  
Mamoru said nothing. He glared her down, hoping his instict would kick in and he'd be Tuxedo Kamen in no time.  
  
"Burning Mandala!"  
  
Mamoru hit the ground and rolled, half in an attempt to keep himself from being set aflame, and half because it was not very fun to catch a huge ball of fire with your chest. Finally, as his organs seemed to be shutting down simply out of self-preservation, his clothes faded away into a tuxedo. He would have sighed in relief, had he contained the breath for it.  
  
He shakily stood, glaring at her, desperately trying to figure out a means of escape. If she was anything like the last false Sailor senshi, none of his powers would be any good against her. Well, except the whole glowing thing, but he was not altogether sure he could duplicate something like that, even if he tried. It had not been any sort of thing he could control; it just sort of happened. It must have been the Golden Crystal. So then, couldn't he at least try to use it again?  
  
He willed the Golden Crystal to appear. He had not used it since the day of its unsealing, the day that he helped Eternal Sailor Moon defeat a certain dark moon queen. It opened like a flower just in front of his chest, glowing in that irridescent sunshine-like color.  
  
Rain took this new development in stride. "That's a cute party trick, Endymion. Does it do anything else?"  
  
Mamoru didn't respond. He shot out a hand and blasted her, which she narrowly dodged. She didn't like that very much.  
  
"Mars Flame Sniper!"  
  
Mamoru stepped to his left, just as the arrow flew past him and bent a streetlamp in half nearly ten yards away. Rain didn't like that very much, either. She stomped her foot in a huff.  
  
"Don't do that!"  
  
"I'm sorry, would you prefer it if I stood still and let you kill me?"  
  
"Well, it would certainly make this easier on both of us!"  
  
"Sorry, guess you're gonna have to work a little." He held a hand out, and another stream of gold energy blasted from his palm, this time hitting her almost dead-on. Rain screamed, scrambling out of the deadly blast's path.  
  
"That hurt!"  
  
"Well, cry me a river!"  
  
"Mars Snake Fire!"  
  
Mamoru really should have expected that response. But, for some reason, he didn't, and even as he tried to dodge, the giant flaming snake head swallowed him whole. The Golden Crystal tried to repel and heal his burns, but it just wasn't working fast enough. Out of exhaustion, Mamoru stumbled, falling on his back. Rain stepped closer, laughing quietly.  
  
"You put up a good fight, Prince Endymion. But that's not enough to stop us."  
  
"'Us?'" Mamoru coughed, looking up at her in disgust. "There are more of you?"  
  
Rain smirked. "Oh, there are. It's quite a pity you're not going to live long enough to know them."  
  
Mamoru tried to rise from the ground, but felt pinned down by his own exhaustion. His lungs still burned from the smoke, and he could not stop coughing. Her vicious smirk never fading, Rain slowly raised her hands towards him, index fingers pointing out like a gun. "Now... how to kill you. Yes, I think the direct approach is always best. Pure, untainted fire. Right through the chest."  
  
The image of the soldier in red wavered as his vision dipped in and out of blackness. He weakly gasped for breath, realizing that this was the second time he had been about to die today. Maybe this time it would really happen...  
  
"Fire Soul!"  
  
"Prince!"  
  
Somehow, Mamoru managed to roll over just in time, as the hideous flames set his cape on fire. "Kunzite?" he whispered groggily. He had picked up the four stones before he'd aburptly left his room, but how Kunzite had "awakened" of his own volition...  
  
"Prince, fight her! You can't die like this!"  
  
He caught one of Rain's sharp stiletto heels in his chest, and began to cough furiously again.  
  
"Stop that," she commanded, almost as if she were talking to a disobedient puppy.  
  
"I can't fight her..." he croaked, before his words turned to coughing again. Rain's foot was weighing down heavily upon his chest, making it even more difficult to breath. He gave up on trying to look up at her; all he could see was the shadow of a leg.  
  
"Dammit Prince, if you die now, you'll be breaking your promise to Usako!"  
  
"Let's try this again, shall we?" Rain's voice said, edged by a hint of annoyance.  
  
Mamoru was not listening to her. What Kunzite said was absolutely true. He would be breaking a promise. And dammit, he'd rather die than do that!  
  
Her fingers were pointed at his chest. "Fire...  
  
"Usa... ko..."  
  
"Soul!"  
  
Mamoru closed his eyes. He didn't want to see it coming.  
  
The fire bounced. It hit Mamoru's chest and, instead of searing him to a crisp, just rolled away like a children's rubber ball.  
  
Mamoru was surprised to find that he wasn't dead. When he opened his eyes, Rain stumbled back in surprise, releasing his chest and allowing him to breathe. His eyes were no longer their piercing, dead-sexy cobalt. They were golden. And they were looking right at her.  
  
"My turn," he said, baring his teeth dangerously as he got to his feet. The Crystal made him feel alive, powerful, like there wasn't anything that could hurt him.  
  
He shot a hand out and released a stream of gold energy, which thundered down upon her like a steam engine. Rain squealed and ducked behind a tree just in time.  
  
"Now who won't hold still?" He shouted tauntingly. She made a timid sort of sound from behind the tree. He began to move around it, but every time he did so, she'd wheel around the trunk, keeping it between them. "Do you plan to play games all night?"  
  
"I... um... ack!" She ducked just in time for another blast of gold light to fly over her head. "Stop that! I... I'm leaving!" And without so much as a goodbye, she vanished into the night air.  
  
With that anticlimactic end to the second battle of his day, Mamoru let out a sigh of relief. The golden glow in his eyes faded away, to reveal their original color. As the adrenaline and power seeped out of him, Mamoru leaned up against a tree trunk, feeling depleted. All of his earlier burns and wounds seemed to come back ten fold. And now that he was lacking a place to return to, he was rather out of options.  
  
He considered transforming back into regular ol' Mamoru, but realized that without his marginally heightened power state, he would be in even more miserable pain. So it was either wander around in agony and explain his acquisition of a tux, or wander around in extreme agony and probably pass out.  
  
All things considered, he preferred the former.  
  
He at least took off the mask and hat first; nothing was quite so noticeable as a guy walking around campus in a mask.   
  
He cast a final, mournful glance up at what remained of the wildly blazing building, before turning away and limping painfully in the opposite direction.  
  
He wandered aimlessly, his feet carrying him where they would, seeing little beyond the ground before him. Anyone who happened to glance outside may have seen the shadowy figure of a man in a tuxedo stumbling across the campus lawn in a disoriented way.  
  
It seemed as though he had been walking for hours, as he really had no grasp of time. Kunzite apparently had nothing else to say after saving him from becoming Japanese barbeque, and so he wandered around in silence.  
  
For a little while, anyway.  
  
"Mamoru?!"  
  
Mamoru looked up blearily, though he couldn't see much in front of him. It appeared to be a person talking to him, though it could have been a plate of natto and he wouldn't have batted an eyelash at this point.  
  
The person strode forward and took him by the shoulders. "Mamoru? What happened?"  
  
He recognized that voice. "Malachi?" Mamoru looked up at him shakily, but the effort made him dizzy. He would have fallen over, had Malachi not been holding him up.  
  
"C'mon, let's get you inside." Apparently ignoring his strange attire, he slung an arm around Mamoru's back and carefully led him into the building that he had apparenly been standing right in front of. Mamoru was barely aware of what was happening around him; a long stream of bright lights, music, laughing, and the pungent smell of alcohol. They walked past it, into another room, and a door closed behind them, muffling the sound. Malachi helped him to a couch, where he gratefully collapsed. Every inch of his body hurt. His breathing came in struggled gasps.  
  
"You are the most injury-prone doctor I have ever met," Malachi commented mildly, rummaging around for something.  
  
"Ha, ha," Mamoru replied dryly, before being seized by another coughing fit.  
  
"Stop talking," Malachi dictated, coming forward with some burn salve and bandages. "Well, after you tell me how you managed to escape the burning dorm room."  
  
"You know?" Mamoru wheezed, trying not to scream as Malachi dressed the burn on his arm.  
  
"'I know?' Mamoru, those sirens have been going off for half an hour. The only people who haven't heard them are everyone else in this frat house. And they're too drunk to tell."  
  
When Malachi unbuttoned Mamoru's jacket, which he still had yet to say anything about, a few pieces of glass fell into his lap, and more could be seen sticking out of his clothing.  
  
"...you didn't," Malachi said, dumbfounded.  
  
"The door wasn't quite an option," he replied, not opening his eyes. The light in the room only seemed to increase his headache. He winced as Malachi cleaned one of the many gashes on his chest.  
  
Malachi shook his head. "I'm not even going to ask how you survived a fall like that."  
  
Mamoru gritted his teeth. Nice guy he may be, but Malachi was not at all gentle with dressing a wound. If he noticed the extra pain he was causing, he did not seem to care.  
  
"Not exactly having a good day, are you?"  
  
"You could say that," Mamoru responded, not caring to disguise the bitterness in his voice. "Being attacked twice in one day is not usually on my agenda."  
  
"I find that hard to believe."  
  
"Why do I have the never-ending urge to hit you?"  
  
"Funny, Zory tends to say the same thing to me."  
  
"Zory?"  
  
"My frat brother. Well, one of them."  
  
Mamoru decided he did not want to know. He had had quite enough surprises for one day, and the last thing he needed was to find out that his newfound friend lived alongside Zirconia or something.  
  
Suddenly, something occured to him. "This is where you live, isn't it?"  
  
"Well gee, Mamoru, I simply figured I'd bring you into the nearest frat house and see whether they'd mind the intrusion."  
  
"I shouldn't be here."  
  
"Why?" Malachi raised an eyebrow. "I promise, they're not going to pop in on us and think dirty thoughts."  
  
Mamoru choked at the thought, and began coughing again. Malachi patted him on the back gently.  
  
"Sorry; this is a bad time for jokes."  
  
It was stupid for Mamoru to think he would be unsafe here. Certainly, there was no reason to think that three other Shitennou look-alikes were going to pop up and try to kill him ... actually, there were plenty of reasons.  
  
"I have to--" Mamoru tried to get up, but Malachi carefully forced him back on the couch.  
  
"No. You don't get off that easy, Mamoru." Malachi looked him straight in the eye. "You're going to explain to me why you shouldn't be here. And while we're at it, how you managed to come by this tux after falling through a five-story window."  
  
"...do you want the long version, or the short version?"  
  
"Let's try short."  
  
"I have sparkly magical powers."  
  
"...Now try the long version."  
  
Mamoru sighed. How exactly does one explain something like this? He'd never had to tell his "story" to anyone, except maybe Usako, and even that required little explanation, because she was a sailor senshi herself. How could he possibly begin to explain the concept of sailor soldiers to a guy who had never even heard of them? Even an urban legend like Sailor V would be unheard-of over here.  
  
"You're not talking."  
  
"I'm trying to figure out where to start."  
  
"Try the beginning."  
  
"This is a story that takes place over a span of thousands of years. I don't think we have that long."  
  
And he was right.  
  
"Malachi, what indecent things are you doing to that new recruit?" someone shouted, pounding on his door. The sound of a beer bottle shattering could be heard outside. "Ow, Neff, watch it!"  
  
"My sex life is none of your business, Jed!" Malachi shouted. "And he's not a new recruit!"  
  
He smiled sheepishly at Mamoru. "My apologies; this isn't exactly the best night to be describing life stories."  
  
"So I see." Mamoru began to rise again. "Maybe I should--"  
  
Malachi pushed him back down. "Uh-uh, you're not getting out of this. You can fill in the details later, but for now we can start with the tux."  
  
Mamoru leaned back, defeated. "That part's easy. You know how your average American superhero runs around in colorful spandex? They apparently ran out by the time I showed up."  
  
Malachi blinked.   
  
"And the women having huge muscles and gigangic boobs? Try short skirts and and little cleavage to speak of. But we've got the most powerful, shiny crystal in the known universe, and talking cats."  
  
"...I think you need to stop falling through windows."  
  
"Hey, you said you wanted the story." Mamoru sighed. "The girl we met this morning, and the one who just tried to fry me, are apparently evil clones of my fiance's compatriots back at home. Which is, needless to say, a little disturbing."  
  
"Oh, I imagine," Malachi said dryly.  
  
"She probably really would have killed me, too, except I've now discovered a new ability to shoot gold sparkles at things. Though of course, that's a really draining way of fighting, as I'm sure you realize. As for the reason why I shouldn't be staying here, there are a few of them, but the main one being that I'd rather not see you or your belongings get barbecued by a bunch of hormonal women with violent tendancies and bad taste in uniforms. There; is that enough for you, or would you like to hear about how I nearly got laid with a thousand-year-old witch with horns?"  
  
"Well I can certainly see why you were reluctant to tell me. This isn't the sort of thing you tell just anyone."  
  
"Thanks, I appreciate the sarcasm. I mean, heck, as long as I'm describing my life story to you, you look just like--"  
  
Mamoru was saved, just barely, when someone flung Malachi's door open and stumbled in, drunkly.  
  
"Malachi, yer missing one helluva party out there," the blonde slurred, spilling beer everywhere.  
  
"Screw off, Jed. I'm a little busy here," Malachi snapped, gesturing to the burned and battered Mamoru.  
  
"Never thought you to be a kinky one, Mala--Put the lamp down."  
  
Malachi held the table lamp in his hand menacingly. "Not until you leave."  
  
Apparently Malachi was not the only one upset with Jed, because there was a shout from down the hallway. "JED! How many times have I told you to stay out of my room!" Another blonde charged in, this one with his long hair tied back in a tangled ponytail. "WHAT the heck is all over my wall?!"  
  
"Ketchup."  
  
"Ketchup."  
  
Jed nodded emphatically. "Uh-huh!"  
  
A taller man with long brown hair stumbled in and draped a heavy arm around the angry man's shoulders, nearly toppling them both. "Ya gotta learn to relax a bit, Zory," he slurred. "Have a beer!"  
  
It was right around this point that Mamoru decided he most definitely should not be here.  
  
//This is not happening to me. This is -not- happening to me! As if my day could get any worse!// His eyes nervously darted from one man to the next.  
  
"I suppose these lunatics should be properly introduced," Malachi said, warily putting down his lamp weapon. "The drunk blonde is Jed, the angry blonde is Zory, and the other drunk guy is Neff."  
  
"A pleasure to meet you," Mamoru greeted, trying to swallow his anxiety. He had to get out of here; these men were not safe while he was in their company, and he wasn't quite sure about himself, for that matter. "But you know, I should be getting back to my dorm. Gotta study and all."  
  
"An adcademic type!" Jed sloshed. "How did you pick one of those up, Malachi?"  
  
"Pure luck." Malachi eyed Mamoru critically. He had no dorm to study in. What was making him so anxious to leave?  
  
Mamoru sat up shakily. He had no idea how he could leave, being that he barely felt well enough to stand. But even if neither he nor the other four people in this room were in danger, this was becoming way too bizarre for his tastes. It's bad enough getting beaten up by sailor senshi look-alikes without walking in on what looks like a drunken Dark Kingdom bush party in the middle of the night.  
  
The three newcomers seemed even less concerned about Mamoru's attire than Malachi had. Zory was too angry to notice, and the other two were just too drunk to care.  
  
"Jed, you've got five minutes to clean that crap off my wall."  
  
"And what'll you do to me if I don't?"  
  
"I will dye your hair pink while you sleep."  
  
"...'scuse me, need to go find a sponge." Jed wobbled out of the room. Zory muttered something about "stupid Jed, I really should dye his hair anyway" as he turned to leave. But he finally seemed to take stock of Mamoru's interesting attire, and stopped.  
  
"What happened to you?" he snapped, still running on residual anger from having his room covered in tomato byproduct.  
  
Malachi rolled his eyes. "Tone down the snarkiness a tad, Zory. One of the dorms is burning down. Haven't you heard the sirens?"  
  
"Malachi, a gun could go off and we wouldn't hear it in here. Not with that blasted music they've got going. I've got half a mind to shut the power off just to--Neff! Get off me!"  
  
"Have I ever told you how much I love you, Zory?"  
  
"Yes. Many, many times. Usually when you're drunk."  
  
"Doesn't make it any less true!"   
  
"Uh huh."  
  
"I hate to be a poor guest," Mamoru said, leaning forward, "but I just can't stay here. It's not safe for you or your friends."  
  
//Or me.//  
  
"Look, I won't let any tiny-chested evil clone women get to you while you're here. At the very least, they'd probably kill some of the new pledges before they even got to this part of the house."  
  
"Oh good, now I'm really reassured."  
  
Jed sauntered in, dripping sponge in one hand and beer bottle in the other. "All clean Zory!"  
  
"I'll believe that when I see it. Neff, let go!" Zory struggled to move away from Neph, who clung to his neck like a child with a teddybear.  
  
"I think you're missing the point," Mamoru hissed, losing patience with Malachi's lack of concern. "I nearly died today. If one of those women shows up here, I don't even want to think about what could happen to you."  
  
"Look, Mamoru, we're frat boys. You don't think we can take care of ourselves?"  
  
"Not when you're up against women who can kill you dead faster than you can say, 'wow, I'm looking up this girl's skirt!'"  
  
"Gah! Neff!" Malachi glanced up at the three clowns. Zory was turning an unhealthy shade of purple beneath Neff's iron grip. Jed had closed the door and was leaning against it, snickering at the predicament. With a weary groan, Malachi crossed the room to free Zory before he could suffocate.  
  
That was when Mamoru felt a prickle at the back of his neck.  
  
"Neff, lay off the trechea, huh? Whoa, Mamoru, what the--"  
  
Mamoru no longer cared what any of them thought. He forcibly shoved Malachi away from the door, milliseconds before it exploded, throwing all of them to the floor.  
  
"I just replaced that thing, dammit!" Malachi groaned.  
  
"Makala, your aim is awful."  
  
"Aw, Rain, 's not my fault he moved!"  
  
Mamoru's blood ran cold. "Malachi, I don't care if you're freaking James Bond. Get your friends out of here now."  
  
"And let you get toasted?"  
  
"What are you going to do? Booze them to death?"  
  
Rain stepped through the cloud of smoke and dust, grinning down at Mamoru. "Hey, miss me?"  
  
He stood up, coughing. "This is getting really old, you know. Don't you think twice in one night is a little redundant?"  
  
"Ha! You just don't want to admit how frightened you are."  
  
"Yes. I was really shaking in my boots when you ran away."  
  
"I didn't run! I was just... going for backup!" She beckoned behind her triumphantly.  
  
"What backup would that be?"  
  
Rain blanched and looked behind her. "Makala! Get out here!" A mop of brown hair poked out from behind the mangled doorframe, nearly two feet below Rain's head.  
  
"Stop the presses, it's Mini Mako!" Makala timidly came out all the way, revealing the expected ugly green fuku.   
  
"That's awfully cute, Rain. Does it come with a leash?"  
  
"You have weird enemies, Mamoru," Malachi said, staring at the women out of sheer confusion.  
  
"What part of 'get out of here' are you having a hard time with?"  
  
"Well, how am I supposed to do that now? Your Amazon friends are blocking my exit."  
  
Jed blinked, apparently becoming sober. "Uh, did we invite them?"  
  
Mamoru glanced around the room--keeping a wary eye on the strange women--and groaned. Not only was there no other door, but not far behind him was a single, tightly sealed window. He was quickly discovering a newfound hatred for windows.  
  
"Go get him, Makala!" Rain squealed triumphantly. The midget shuffled forward, one of her hands crackling with electricity.  
  
"Now girls, let's be reasonable," Mamoru muttered, carefully backing up.  
  
"Supreme Thunder!"  
  
Malachi lunged out of the way, as the ball of electricity flew past him and scortched a hole in his wall.  
  
"You're almost worse than Jed," he said, glaring from the floor at the little green upstart.   
  
"Rain? Can I do that again?"  
  
"Yes, dear."  
  
"Goody!" Makala beamed like an innocent child. "Sparkling Wide Pressure!"  
  
The energy went wide, bouncing harmlessly off Malachi's mirror and blasting Neff out of the room.  
  
"Ow," he moaned quieltly. "Man, Malachi, you really do have kinky friends."  
  
Mamoru raised his eyebrows. As a non-moving target, he was apparently the safest person in the room.  
  
"C'mon dear, third time's the charm!" Rain shouted encouragingly.  
  
"Jupiter Coconut Cyclone!"  
  
It was.  
  
Mamoru was not sure whether he was overly happy that his plan worked. On one hand, he was now able to draw the battle away from innocent (if those four could indeed be termed as "innocent") bystanders. On the other, he had just been effectively blasted through a glass window. Again.  
  
"Mamoru!" Malachi scrambled to his feet, peeking out the ruined window.   
  
"Nngh, 'm fine," he managed to reply, getting to his feet in a wobbly fashion. He was most definitely not fine, but the last thing he wanted was to drag Malachi into this fight.  
  
Makala giggled with immature glee and ran straight through the wall like a ghost. "Let's play some more!"  
  
With a single leap, Rain came through the window, laughing in her most irritating way. "Frightened yet?"  
  
"You're not exactly playing fair here," he panted.  
  
She smirked. "Who needs fair when you've got power? Makala!"  
  
"Jupiter Oak Evolution!"  
  
Mamoru attempted to dodge, but it was impossible to escape the leaf-shaped slivers of lightning. Several slashed through his skin before he stumbled and fell in a heap on his side.  
  
"Mamoru!" Malachi began to climb through the window, but Zory grabbed him by the shirt collar.  
  
"Don't be an idiot! What could you possibly do?"  
  
"I could ... Well, I could do something!"  
  
Zory snorted. "Yeah. You against derraged women who wield magical powers. Not even your good looks can stop them."  
  
"...but wouldn't they be distracted? Even a little?"  
  
"You're fun to play with!" Makala chirped cheerily, skipping over to the fallen prince. "Buuuut Rain says we're supposed to kill you. So I have to cut our fun time short."  
  
Amazingly strong for such a little girl, she picked Mamoru up by the collar. He glared up at her from the one eye that hadn't started to swell shut.  
  
There was a crackle of energy in her hands, then he was suddenly engulfed in lightning. Mamoru could not help crying out as the short girl continued to electrocute him, the greenish light that streamed across his body flickering in her eyes.  
  
"Malachi, no! Guys! Help me!" Neff and Jed, who were gradually sobering up, glanced dimly at each other and went to help Zory. They did not even begin to comprehend what was happening, but it probably would be a good idea to stop their friend from getting himself fried by the freaky little girl outside. Before Malachi knew it, he was being held back by no less than three pairs of arms.  
  
"Let go of me! Mamoru!"  
  
//Well, at least some of them have sense,// Mamoru thought numbly, trying not to consider how badly he was hurting. //No sense in Malachi getting hurt for me.//  
  
He'd escaped a burning building, just to end up dying anyway. What a crappy, crappy day.  
  
"I said, let go of me!" Malachi tried to wrench away from the partially-sober men who were keeping him restrained. "Do you want him to die, for God's sake?!"  
  
"Of course we don't. But we don't want you to die, either," Zory snapped back. "And admit it; you can't do anything to help."  
  
"I don't care!" He snarled, struggling to free himself from his friends' grasp.  
  
Mamoru could feel himself growing weaker. He knew it probably was not a good sign that he could barely feel the pain anymore. Though his vision was dimming, he could see Malachi over the girl's shoulder, frantically trying to help him. //Why should he care so much?// he thought, slipping from consciousness. //We only just met...//  
  
"Mamoru!"  
  
"PRINCE!"  
  
"...K-Kunzite?" Mamoru mumbled, feeling something warm in his pocket.  
  
Malachi stopped struggling briefly. That voice sounded like his own, and it was coming from Mamoru's pants.[1]  
  
"Do we need to go over this again?" Kunzite's voice snapped. "You dying would be a very bad thing! Now hurry up and fight back!"  
  
//Gee, he's certainly not asking for much, is he?//  
  
"...Malachi? Can you throw your voice?"  
  
"No."  
  
"So I'm still drunk."  
  
"Zory heard it, too; he's not drunk."  
  
Slowly, like a flickering candle, Mamoru began to glow.  
  
"You're like a cute little Christmas light!" Makala was unimpressed by the weak display. "But you're still gonna die."  
  
Mamoru's eyes shot open, shining in a violent shade of gold. "Am I?"  
  
Makala gasped. Precisely before she was launched halfway across the lawn by a burst of power from Mamoru's chest. The four on the other side of the window could only stare dumbfounded as he knelt on the grass, bathed in golden light. Even through his many bruises, burns and gashes, even despite his nearly shredded tuxedo, he looked almost kingly in appearance.  
  
"...wow," they said, dumbly and in unison.  
  
"That was not very nice! You were just supposed to die!" whined Makala. "Now we have to fight!"  
  
"We don't have to. You could stand around and wait for me to kill you." Mamoru grinned ferally. "I'd like that."  
  
"Is it just me, or does your friend look scary?" Neff asked, now totally unsure of how sober he really was.  
  
"No, he looks scary."  
  
Makala whimpered. "Rain, he's scaring me!"  
  
Rain sighed in exasperation. "Never let a kid do a woman's job. Fire Soul!"  
  
She squaked as her attack bounced off his back and singed her shoes.  
  
Mamoru came to a conclusion: he liked the way the Golden Crystal felt. He liked being powerful for a change. He liked feeling useful. (He felt a lot more useful when he wasn't flying through windows, but that was another issue all together.)  
  
Somewhere in his pocket, he heard someone sigh in relief. The Prince may have been slow on the uptake, but he learned fast.  
  
His eyes, orbs of molten gold, flicked between the two girls, deciding who he should take out first. Settling for the one he especially despised, he turned to face Rain, who squeeked beneath his gaze. Mamoru stood and began to walk towards her, a low growl in his throat.  
  
Rain did the only intellegent thing she could think of at that moment. She ran.  
  
He allowed her to get a few paces away before his hand shot out. Energy swirled around it for a moment, then charged after the soldier in red, overtaking her in moments.   
  
She didn't last much longer. After an elongated cry of pain, the fire woman disappeared, overwhelmed by the pure light. There was nothing left but dust, and that was quickly blown away in a cold breeze.  
  
Makala whimpered. That didn't look like fun.  
  
"Tuxedo Mirage[2]!" Mamoru wouldn't just settle for a blast of light: it needed to be properly named. Makala tried to scramble away from the golden light, but did not succeed. She squeeked loudly before being swallowed by the light, collapsing in a quiet heap. Mamoru watched her for a moment, before deciding that she was probably best left alone.  
  
Assuming the threat was gone, the three frat boys let go of Malachi, who hadn't been resisting for quite some time.  
  
The battle done, the light began to fade from Mamoru's eyes. With all his resources completely drained, any strength he had left seemed to vanish right along with the golden glow. He staggered a moment, struggling to stay upright, but gravity eventually won out, and he crumpled to the ground.  
  
"Mamoru!" Ignoring the shards of glass that protruded dangerously from the windowframe, Malachi scrambled outside and hurried towards Mamoru's fallen form.  
  
A few feet away, he abruptly stopped. He thought he saw something there, in the darkness. What he thought he saw was himself, kneeling over the boy on the ground. He--himself--was wearing an unusual high-collared white uniform with a long brown cape that seemed to drape around Mamoru, except it was apparently transparent. The man who looked like him lifted his head to regard Malachi, his deep green eyes seeming to engulf all the world. Then, with a deep nod, he vanished into thin air.  
  
Malachi blinked. What was that all about?  
  
"It's not safe yet," Mamoru muttered, trying to wave him off. "Why are you out here?"  
  
"'It's not safe yet?'" Malachi stared, incredulous. "You just killed both of those strange, magic-wielding women! How could it get any worse?"  
  
"'S not dead yet." Mamoru gestured at Makala who, surprisingly, had not vaporized. "She's supposed to -vanish- when I do that."  
  
Mamoru's head was reeling. He tried to push himself off the ground, but found the task impossible. When he saw Malachi moving towards him again, he tensed. "I thought I told you to get out of here."  
  
"What, and leave you alone out here?"  
  
"She could kill you, you know."  
  
"I don't care about that."  
  
"Well, I do!" Mamrou bellowed angrily. "I'm not going to be responsible for an innocent bystander getting hurt!"  
  
"What are you going to do about it, huh? You can't make me leave!"  
  
"No, but I can!"  
  
Makala sat up, like a corpse from a horror movie, and grinned. "Jupiter Oak Evolution!"  
  
He did not even see it coming. With all the force of a mighty tempest, the electric shock struck Malachi with surprisingly perfect accuracy, knocking him right off his feet and sending him flying into the side of the nearest parked car. He hit the metal with a sickening crunch, before sliding onto the pavement, his back partially propped upright by the sizeable dent his own body had made.  
  
"Malachi!" Zory screeched, looking out the shattered window. Without a second to lose, he tried to scramble out.  
  
"STAY IN THERE!"   
  
Halfway through his climb, the blonde stopped. Mamoru glared at him, glowing golden in less than five seconds. He was mad, and he wasn't going to take it any more. He was fed up with people not listening to him.  
  
Zory stared at the Japanese man, the desperation evident in his lime green eyes. Even though every inch of his mind was screaming to go help his friend, some small part of him refused to let him disobey the words of this stranger. Maybe it was because he was glowing. It's generally a bad idea to cross people who are glowing.  
  
Mamoru rounded on Makala, the fury evident on his face. "You'd better hope he's not dead," he growled.   
  
Makala tried to look brave and dangerous, but she only succeeded in looking petrified. "He was in my way!" she whined.  
  
"That's not helping your case," Mamoru snarled. "Tuxedo Mirage!"  
  
This time, Makala vanished as she was supposed to. In a puff of dust, and a plaintive squeek, she disappeared. Finally sure he was through with enemies - or mostly sure, anyway - he ran over to Malachi, who had not moved since his intimate encounter with a Lexus.  
  
Mamoru knelt down next to him, praying he'd be alright. There were a few drops of blood which stained the strands of silvery hair, and smeared across the side of the car. He reached out a hand, not to feel his pulse, but to touch his forehead. Sometimes Mamoru's psychometric powers enabled him to feel what was wrong with someone, to actually see where they were hurting. It was an unreliable power, as were the visions that came with it, but he hoped it would work for him now.  
  
Barely a few seconds passed before he heaved a sigh of relief. He turned to watch the three who were running towards him, Zory in the lead. "He's alright," he reported.  
  
Zory proceeded to ignore Mamoru, as he knelt by Malachi's side. The white haired man began to stir, moaning quietly as his injuries appeared to come to light.  
  
"Zory? What--" Malachi began to ask a question, but started to slip away into unconsciousness. Zory shook him lightly.  
  
"No! No, don't do that. Stay with me," Zory said seriously.  
  
Malachi's eyes flickered open, attempting to focus on Zory's face, but soon slid closed again. "No! Malachi!"  
  
"We need to get him inside," Mamoru muttered, concerned for the man's pale color.  
  
"What's with this 'we' stuff?" Zory snapped. "If it weren't for you, he wouldn't be in this position right now."  
  
"All the more reason for me to help, Zory," he said calmly, attributing the blonde's outburst to worry. "I never wanted for this to happen."  
  
Zory snorted. "Of course you didn't. He saves your ass at least four times, and you thank him by letting him get pummeled into a car."  
  
"I told him to leave! I couldn't very well force him!"  
  
"Oh, and that makes it okay, then." Neff stood imposingly over Mamoru, his bleary, alcohol-ridden eyes glaring daggers at him. Jed stood just behind him, equally looking ready to pound the black haired man into the ground. "You show up here, take advantage of someone who barely knows you, then proceed to nearly get him killed. How very magnanimous of you."  
  
"And you don't know how sorry I am for that, but I think it's a little more important that we take care of Malachi."  
  
"We're not doing anything until you leave," Jed snarled.  
  
"And I'm not leaving until you do something." Mamoru felt surprisingly calm, for one who was being threatened by two men who were, combined, probably much phsyically stronger than he was. On a good day, even.  
  
"Well then, I guess we'll just have to resolve this problem."  
  
Mamoru assumed that Jed had meant in a passive way, like discussing, but he had assumed incorrectly. His jaw met an angry fist, and with his ears ringing like church bells, he toppled over.  
  
"Not my day," he muttered. "Just not my day."  
  
He rose to his feet, calmly dusting himself off, trying to ignore the pain throbbing throughout his entire head. He locked Jed beneath the steady gaze of his blue eyes. "Do you really want to beat me up right now? Because I've been in no less than three fights today, and one more would hardly make much of a difference at this point. We could easily be here all night, if you're so determined. But let me remind you that while you are wasting time threatening me, your friend is lying here bleeding on the pavement!" For a moment, a hint of the gold light flared up in his eyes. "Now quit standing around and get this man inside NOW!"  
  
Neff's first response, normally, would have been to tackle Mamoru and beat him senseless. But the flash of gold in the man's eyes, in addition to his tone of voice, immediately caused him to reconsider. He was right. The more time they spent stalling with him, the more likely it would be that Malachi would not make it to the next kegger.  
  
"Take him inside. That's an ORDER." With that, Mamoru turned on his heels and began to leave. He wasn't going to get into any needless fights, not with fake Senshi running around, intent on killing him. He had better things to spend his energy on. Like worrying whether he'd just caused the death of someone who was blindly, unintelligently, trying to protect him. (And wondering, however idly, when he'd recieved the right to order people around.)  
  
"Wait." Zory stood up, dusting off his knees as Neff scooped Malachi up in his arms. Mamoru paused, but didn't turn around.  
  
"Where do you think you're going?"  
  
"I don't know." Mamoru really didn't. He had no home to speak of, anymore, and all of his remaining possessions were tucked neatly in his pockets. "Doesn't really matter."  
  
"Oh, please. You're in a completely foreign country, as far as I can tell you've got few friends to speak of, and your dorm just burned down. To me that looks rather like you've got nowhere to go."  
  
"What does that matter to you? I'm the guy who just about killed your best friend, remember?"  
  
"Yeah, well..." Zory paused, seeming to search for the right words. "Malachi isn't exactly one to trust people lightly, you know. I don't know what went on today that made him take a liking to you so fast, but I've never seen him get so protective of anyone besides us. And... I dunno, I trust his judgement."  
  
"Does anyone else plan on punching me?"  
  
Zory looked sharply at Jed, who coughed discreetly.   
  
"Sorry. I just don't want anything to happen to Malachi," he said sheepishly. Then, more quietly, "He's all we've had for a long time."  
  
Mamoru turned around finally, his tuxedo fading back into street clothes. "I don't want to put a burden on you. It looks like you've got a full house."  
  
At this remark Zory grinned, making it possibly the first time he had smiled all night. "Oh, you ought to see it on Saturdays." Mamoru wasn't sure whether he wanted to, if it was anything like it had been tonight. He still hesitated, not sure whether imposing on the frat house would be such a good idea. "C'mon," Zory urged him. "even if you don't stay for long, we could use some help getting Malachi patched up. I'd rather not allow Jed anywhere near the first aid kit."  
  
"Okay, I only bandaged your arm to you head once."  
  
"Which was plenty."  
  
Mamoru smiled wanly. "Well, I am of the medical persuasion. I can do my best."  
  
"Well there ya go," Zory replied, taking that as a yes. Before Mamoru could protest, the shorter blonde had already grabbed his arm and began leading him back into the house. "You know, I'd really like to know how you did that."  
  
"Did what?" Mamoru was not overly sure he could explain the details of how one shoots gold sparkly attacks from his hands.  
  
"Made Jed and Neff listen to you like that. I've never seen those two react so fast."  
  
Had he been in a more cheerful mood, Mamoru would have probably burst out laughing. "Zory, you just saw me vaporize a couple of clones from hell, and here you want to know how I got your pals to not beat the heck out of me?"  
  
"Jedi Mind Trick, maybe?"  
  
That did it. Mamoru exploded into, well, giggles. "I've never been very good at mind tricks. Unless they're being played on me."  
  
"Alright, then what was that back there? Those two are hardly ones to listen to orders."  
  
"And I'm not exactly one to give them. Honestly, I don't know what happened. I don't even know why I did that."  
  
Zory led Mamoru back through the house, where the drunken party-goers had apparently remained oblivious to the potentially fatal occurances going on just outside their own building. When they reached Malachi's bedroom, they found a replacement door already leaning up next to the frame. Mamoru blinked. How often must this sort of thing happen if they have spare doors laying around?   
  
"We need those a lot," Zory said, apparently being very good at mind reading. He and Mamoru maneuvered around it and into the room. Neff was bent over, broom and dustpan in hand, cleaning up the broken and bloody glass. The first aid kit was sitting where it had been not long ago, when Mamoru himself had been in need of it.  
  
"Malachi?" Zory's voice was soft, but strong, as he called out his friend's name. The man stirred slightly, but spasmed as the effort caused him immense pain.  
  
The two men wasted no time in rushing across the room. Neff threw an icy glare in Mamoru's direction, but he did his best to ignore it as he placed a hand on Malachi's shoulder to still him. "Try not to move too much."  
  
Malachi's eyes opened, just barely. His breathing was shallow and ragged, and he seemed to wince every time he inhaled. Zory smiled encouragingly. "Well, look who finally decided to wake up."  
  
Malachi looked around slowly, trying to get his bearings. When Mamoru wasn't readily viewable, his eyes darted around frantically.  
  
"Mamoru! Zory, what happened to--"  
  
Mamoru came around from behind Zory, which immediately calmed his white haired friend.  
  
"You seem to have nine lives, you know that?"  
  
Mamoru dug through the first aid kit, assessing what he had to work with. "You're one to talk. You've just been pummeled by a sedan."  
  
"Hey, you should've seen the other guy."  
  
Very carefully, Mamoru reached forward and turned Malachi's head, to get a better view. He winced as Malachi spat out a curse, and saw the mess it was. An entire patch of hair on the back of his head was stained scarlet; this was entirely thanks to a piece of glass, about the size of a half-dollar, embedded into his skull. Fortunately, it hadn't gone all the way in, or Malachi would have been-- Mamoru shuddered, not wanting to think about it.  
  
Mamoru turned his head to look at Neff, then Zory. Well, they'd already seen him use most of his powers. What was one more? Not caring about how much energy he had already drained from himself, he closed his eyes and waited until his hands glowed golden.  
  
"What are you--" Zory started to ask, but stopped when Mamoru began to work his hands around in Malachi's hair. He began to heal the deep wound with one hand, while working the shard of glass out of his head with the other.  
  
Malachi seemed to be trying very hard not to scream as the stubborn chunk of glass was slowly pulled free from his scalp. He gripped the edge of the bed so hard that his knuckles turned white. At last it slid into Mamoru's fingers, and he quickly covered the wound with his other hand to hold off any further bleeding. Using both hands now, he healed it the rest of the way, until all that remained was a sticky tangle of partially-dried blood.  
  
Zory stared wide-eyed as the light faded from Mamoru's hands. "How..."  
  
"Is it any wonder why I'm a medical student?" he muttered, unceremoniously dropping the piece of glass onto the desk and wiping the blood from his hands.  
  
"No, I suppose it isn't." Neff spoke, for the first time since Mamoru had entered the room. He tossed the man a towel, and Mamoru wiped the blood off his hands.  
  
"Is there anything you can't do?" Malachi asked, releasing the bed from his tight grip. The matress creaked, almost in relief, and sprung back to its normal shape.  
  
Mamoru snorted. "Oh, there's plenty I can't do. Those girls you saw tonight were nothing but pathetic clones of the originals. The real Sailor Jupiter could have pounded me into the pavement without so much as breaking a sweat--and she probably wouldn't have collapsed afterward. I'm little more than the pitiful prince who is easily brainwashed and can barely protect his own girlfriend at the best of times."  
  
Malachi stared at him. "You know, for someone with such extraordinary powers, you have an incredible lack of self esteem."  
  
"Hey, I wouldn't say it if it wasn't true." Mamoru stopped wiping his hands, and just looked at them. "I never finished the long version of my story, which includes yours truly being killed, brainwashed, and/or maimed every time a new villain comes along. I'm going to start needing more fingers to count exactly how many times I've been completely useless."  
  
"You call what you just did 'useless?'"  
  
"Believe it or not, I haven't had the ability to destroy evil demon clones for very long. In fact, I've only been doing it for about 12 hours."  
  
"Well then, it's a good thing that the psychotic Pikachu didn't show up yesterday, or I'd be quite fried right now."  
  
Mamoru tossed the towel aside and returned to rooting through the first aid kit. Malachi's most urgent wound had been healed, but the rest would have to be taken care of the old fashioned way. Mamoru was not sure he had the strength left to heal anything else tonight, and rather preferred not collapsing in the middle of Malachi's bedroom. He scrutinized Malachi's t-shirt, wondering how to get it off without causing any extra pain, and finally settled the matter by cutting it open with a pair of scissors.  
  
"I liked that shirt," Malachi grumbled.  
  
"I'll get you a new one."  
  
"That happens to be the shirt you stole from me," Neff added, but he was pretty much ignored by everyone.  
  
Malachi hissed quietly as Mamoru tended to his various cuts with aniseptic and bandages. The dark haired man was doing an expert job at tending to him; the guilt for getting him into this mess was apparent on his face.  
  
Mamoru leaned over the white haired man, as he bandaged his arm. "I'm sorry, Malachi. It's my fault you're in this shape."  
  
"Hey, it's not your fault I sauntered into your little fight. You told me to go back."  
  
"Yeah, but none of this would have happened if I hadn't shown up here in the first place." He sighed, brushing his black bangs away from his eyes. "I'm beginning to think that I should have never come to university at all. I can't seem to survive on my own for more than a week. I need a bunch of teenage girls to come to my defense."  
  
"It would be one thing if you needed a bunch of wimpy, brainless teenage girls to come to your defense. But the way it's been described to me, they're fighters, and powerful ones at that. What's so bad about depending on them?"  
  
Mamoru secured the last bandage. "That's just it. I hate depending on others. I need to be able to do things for myself, whether it be cooking my own food, doing my own taxes, or saving my girlfriend. So far, I'm only two for three."  
  
"Well you've got one up on Neff, anyway," Zory said with a grin. "He has difficulties with cereal."  
  
"This girlfriend of yours sounds like she needs rescuing almost as often as you do."  
  
"Only because half the galaxy is after her. Or rather, her power. But that's the point: she is powerful, and she's proven repeatedly that she really doesn't need protection." He nearly shuddered to think of the stories he had heard about Galaxia, a woman who had snuffed out his life with barely a twitch of her eyelash, and how in the end, her powers had not even begun to compare to Usagi's. "And even on the rare occasion that she does need help, she's got eight able-bodied soldiers at her disposal."  
  
"No disrespect intended, but if your girlfriend and her companions kick so much ass, what's your job? Exactly?" Jed finally spoke up, having come back with a screwdriver to replace Malachi's door.  
  
"I've been wondering the same thing for quite some time," Mamoru confided.  
  
"Come on, Mamoru. You've got to be good for something."  
  
"No, really. If you want to come right down to it, I think my sole purpose in life is to father a pink-haired 30th-century princess, but that won't be happening for another few years or so. So until then, I'm pretty sure I exist mostly to take up space. Like a knick-knack."  
  
Everyone paused for a moment.  
  
"I'm no psychologist, but I think you've got painfully low self-esteem when you start comparing yourself to the likes of paperweights and potpurri holders," Zory finally said. Neff and Jed nodded in agreement.  
  
"Laugh all you want," Mamoru groused, gathering up the First Aid supplies, "but I'm not kidding you. The only successful thing I did in the last six months, before my arrival in California, was die in a fight where I was painfully outmatched. I lasted a whole three minutes."  
  
"Correct me if I'm wrong," Malachi said, shifting to one side to ease the pain in his shoulder, "but you don't look altogether dead to me."  
  
"Again, you have my girlfriend to thank for that. Which is a good thing, because if there's one thing I seem to be good at, it's dying. I almost can't believe I've survived all these battles today. That's a new record for me." He snapped the first aid kit shut and wearily brought a hand to his head. "Man, what is with me today? I'm ranting to a bunch of strangers about being a Sailor Senshi. You guys probably don't even have a clue what I'm talking about."  
  
"Actually, between the uber-women and the verbal self-abuse, I'm quite entertained." Jed grinned.  
  
"Are any of these Sailor Senshi cute? Or single?" Neff raised one eyebrow, depositing the bloody glass in a wastebasket.  
  
Mamoru laughed. "Some of them are."  
  
"I bet they're much too smart to go out with you, Neff."  
  
"When was the last time you had a date, Jed? Before midterms?"  
  
"Look who's talking. You took Zory in drag to the spirit day rally."  
  
"For the last time, that wasn't me!"  
  
"How 'bout it, Mamoru? You could put in a good word for us with the sailor whatsits."  
  
Mamoru could not help laughing. They reminded him so much of Minako and Makoto, chattering away about the latest drop-dead gorgeous male. Granted, the giggly duo would jump at the very mention of a few good-looking foreign guys, and he was sure that he'd have even Rei and Ami's attention. But he saw one very prominant snag in the whole idea, and he was not sure how to break it to them. "I'm not sure they would go for the idea," he said slowly, choosing his words carefully.  
  
"See Neff? Told you you'd scare 'em."  
  
"And why not?" Neff asked, attempting to ignore Jed.  
  
"Because, well..." Mamoru's hesitation only increased their focus on him, and he knew there was no way he could back out now. "Because you look exactly like our former enemies, that's why."  
  
The silence in the room was thick enough to cut.  
  
"We...what?" Malachi finally spoke.  
  
Mamoru rubbed his temple with one hand, looking at the floor as though it was a faraway country. "They weren't always enemies. They were on our side for ... for as long as I could remember. But they were killed, brainwashed by the enemy, and then they weren't..."  
  
"They weren't my Shitennou anymore..." Mamoru shook himself. "In the end, the Senshi managed to defeat them, and the Dark Kingdom. But if they found out that my new frat buddies looked like their long-dead rivals from two years past, I can think of one very irate blonde who would threaten my manhood and any other of my body parts she could take off with a sword."  
  
"So the person you mistook me for today was..."  
  
"Kunzite. The leader."  
  
"...I don't get it," Jed said blankly. "How could we..."  
  
"I don't know, alright? And neither do they."  
  
Zory blinked. "They?"  
  
"The Shitennou. They... well, they aren't altogether dead, let's just say that. They protect me, with what little power they have left."  
  
"Did someone call me?"  
  
"...that's the second time I've heard my voice come out of your pants," Malachi said warily.  
  
Mamoru slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand. "Well, as long as I'm making a total idiot out of myself..."  
  
"That's actually Jed's area of expertOW!" Zory's quip was cut short when Jed "accidentally" elbowed him in the ribs. All four men watched intently, some amusedly, as Mamoru put his hand into his pocket.  
  
He held out four small, gliterring stones, for everyone to view.  
  
"...Prince? Are these the people you were telling me about?"  
  
"You've been talking about us with inanimate objects?"  
  
"Hey," Jadeite snapped, which caused Jed to jump back, "I'll have you know that we're very animate! Why, just earlier, Zoisite and I were playing a game of Who Could Fall Off the Table First."  
  
"Congratulations Jed," Zory said, attempting to hold back his laughter. "You've just been chewed out by a disgruntled piece of jade."  
  
"I'll show you disgruntled, ya little--" Jadeite made a disturbingly high jump from Mamoru's palm, making Zory yelp. Mamoru, who was quite unafraid of possessed gemstones, caught him with the other hand.  
  
"Hey, no more of that. I don't want to have to fix you again."  
  
"Even Jed's inanimate counterpart is an idiot," Neff said, smirking.  
  
"Amen to that," Nephrite grumbled. Neff's smirk lessoned a little, which caused the stone to laugh.  
  
"I am not!" Jadeite and Jed shouted at the same time, which caused Jed to blush and Nephrite to roll over and nudge his equally small friend.  
  
"I am not," Jadeite sulked.  
  
Malachi winced as he sat up to get a better view of the stones. "They're quite amusing, Mamoru, but that piece of spodumene doesn't look a thing like me."  
  
"Oh, right. C'mon out, guys." The hand that held the stones began to glow golden, and suddenly Mamoru was surrounded by four apparitional figures, each clad in a white military uniform with a dark brown cape. The four men, who had been leaning over to watch the stones, leapt back in surprise. Both Zory and Jed were attempting to hide behind Neff, who attempted to inch closer to the door. Malachi, who was in no condition to hide even if he wanted to, simply stared at them wide-eyed. "These are my Shitennou," Mamoru said, a hint of pride in his voice.  
  
------  
  
[1] We mean that in a very platonic way, thank you. (Anne: S-hime, stop laughing.)  
  
Okay. So, um, really, we don't support Mamoru/Malachi slash. But the innuendos are too fun to write. You'll forgive us, right? Right? Good.  
  
[2] No, we did NOT swipe that from the song! We swiped it from the Musicals! (That really is an attack, by the way. It just doesn't look quite like we described.)  
  
...this chapter got a little out of hand. But then, it's an Evil Authoress Inc. production; they all do that.  
  
Alternate ending to this chapter:  
  
"These are my hoes," Mamoru said, a hint of pride in his voice.  
  
(If you've read S-hime's site, this will make a lot of sense. If not, well, it's still funny. And to clear this up, her site is not about Endymion and his hoes, although it very well could be, if Anne was in charge of it more often.)  
  
See you next time, space cowboy! 


	3. Chapter 3

Bleed (Just to Know You're Alive)  
  
Chapter 3  
  
//anything between slashes are thoughts//  
  
------  
  
"These are your...what?" Neff stared, dumbfounded, at the four holographic men before him.  
  
"Shi-te-n-nou," Nephrite spelled out, waving his hands as though explaining to a small child. Then, as an afterthought, he added, "I take it you don't know any Japanese."  
  
"Uh, domo arigato, Mr. Roboto?" Jed tried lamely, and he earned a groan from just about everyone.  
  
"In your... crude language, it roughly means the Four Heavenly Kings. But that's neither here nor there." Zoisite replied, flicking his blonde ponytail.  
  
"That sounds like something Tolkien would come up with."  
  
"Here's an idea, Jed: how about you stop talking?" Zory said, throwing a glare in his direction. The last thing he wanted was to irritate the scary transparent guys.  
  
"I'll second that," Zoisite muttered, which earned him a sharp glare from Jadeite.  
  
"Hey, I won't have you talking to my apparent clone that way!" Jadeite snapped.  
  
Jed beamed. "I like this guy already!"  
  
"That's enough!" Malachi and Kunzite shouted at the same time. They stared at each other warily, not sure what to make of that. Mamoru tried his best not to laugh out loud.  
  
Kunzite was the first to regain his composure. "You'll have to excuse my rude companions. They... don't get out much." At this he recieved a nasty glare from all three of them. "And if they'll kindly refrain from acting like complete idiots for at least thirty seconds, perhaps we'll be able to introduce ourselves. We are the Shitennou, kings of the four corners of heaven, and guardians of Prince Endymion of the Golden Kingdom."  
  
"Have we met this Prince?" Zory asked, and when Mamoru coughed and looked at his shoes, it became pretty apparent that he had.  
  
"My, but you're a sharp one," Zoisite said, sounding almost patronizing.  
  
"Good job, Zoisite. You made it a whole five seconds."  
  
Zoisite folded his arms, but said nothing. His look declared, "He knows I'm right."  
  
"Anyway," Kunzite continued, sounding infinitely put-upon, "we've spent a great deal of the past two years living in small stones, after a very unfortunate encounter as The Bad Guys."  
  
"Wait." Malachi sat up slowly, slinking toward the edge of his bed. "Mamoru has been giving us cryptic information about this whole 'they were bad guys, but really good guys' idea. If I'm going to swallow being your twin, or whatever it is I really am, I'd like the full story."  
  
The Shitennou exchanged glances with each other, and then all focused on Kunzite.  
  
A somber look crossed his face and for a moment it seemed as though the greenish tint had faded from his eyes. "You don't have to..." Mamoru started to say, but Kunzite cut him off with a single look.  
  
"No, Prince. It should be me." He cast a shadowy glance at the three frat boys cowering in the corner. "Sit down. This'll take a while."  
  
When everyone was seated--or rather, huddled--on the couch, he began.   
  
"This story begins much further back than any of you could probably imagine." Kunzite seemed to hesitate, as though he was too afraid to continue. But he managed. "Thousands upon thousands of years ago, there was a time of peace. Monarchies ruled all of the planets of the Solar System, with smaller outposts on all of the moons. All, that is, save for Earth's Moon. This place was the center of our near-utopia."  
  
Zoisite reached out briefly, but then pulled his hand away. No matter how badly he wanted to support his friend, this was something he had to share himself.  
  
"This was all before a woman named Beryl began to wreck chaos on our planet, the Earth," he continued quietly. For some reason, all of the frat boys seemed to shudder unanimously at the mention of the name. Whether Kunzite noticed or cared, it was hard to tell.  
  
"Backed by a horrible demon, she manipulated the people of Earth to do her bidding. We... we all fell under her spell." He paused, either in thought or sorrow, but quickly moved on again. "However, the Prince refused to follow her, believing that what she was doing was wrong, that there was no reason for the war she was starting. But despite his best efforts, she rallied her troops, and marched against the Moon."  
  
Malachi hardly dared to breathe. The story was unfamiliar to him, yet it somehow stirred within him the darkest shadow of dread.  
  
"That was the day that will haunt me the most, as long as I'm alive. Backed by Beryl's youma - monsters - we attacked the Moon palace, during a grand celebration. Most of the people attending were killed brutally, including the Sailor Senshi, by our own hands. In the end, Endymion died in a fight with Beryl, and the Moon Princess Serenity..."  
  
Here, his voice stuck in his throat. "...killed herself out of grief," he finally finished.   
  
This final statement was followed by a long stretch of silence, as the weight of his words slowly sank in. In the heaviness of it, Neff cleared his throat apologetically. "I'm sorry, the Moon Princess?"  
  
Mamoru sighed and pulled out his wallet--which, thankfully, had not been burned to a crisp--and presented the small photo of himself and his Usako. It had been taken during a day in the park, when the last remaining August sunbeams trickled between the gently swaying trees, and the smell of the grass hung thick in the air. He remembered how Makoto had caught them with the camera, snuggled together on a bench, her odangoed head against his shoulder, his face turned just towards hers to say something. That was scarcely a few days before he left. It seemed so long ago now.  
  
Being violently maimed and near death tends to put quite a few things in perspective.  
  
"Your girlfriend?" Malachi said, leaning forward to better view the picture. Mamoru handed him the whole wallet, and all four of the frat boys silently appraised the photo.  
  
"Fiancé," Mamoru corrected, although he himself still had a difficult time believing he'd really proposed to Usako. He had an even more difficult time believing she'd accepted his proposal, but she had.  
  
Malachi considered the photograph for a few moments before passing it to Zory. He somehow found it difficult to reconcile Mamoru's description of an all-powerful super woman with the sweet young girl on the park bench. She looked about as capable of defeating evil creatures as a French poodle.  
  
Kunzite allowed them a moment to look at the picture before continuing. "After the death of the Princess, her mother, Queen Serenity, used what was their last hope to save her kingdom. With the help of the gin--" he paused, reconsidered, "Silver Crystal, she sealed away Beryl's followers, and sent the spirits of the Prince and the Silver Millenium princesses to be reborn on Earth, some time in the distant future."  
  
"Everything seemed mild-mannered and peaceful for more than a decade; nobody suspected there was a great evil force about to burst forth upon them. Just as the Prince and Princesses were sent ahead without memories, so were Beryl and her followers. Namely, us. We ended up at Point D - that's up in the North Pole - and after some unfortunate encounters with penguins, Beryl found Metallia and broke the Silver Crystal's seal on her. From that point on, our job was to basically help them take over the world."  
  
Kunzite paused. He didn't think he could continue. It was bad enough thinking about how they betrayed their prince the first time, thousands of years ago, but jumping ahead to the present brought up many more uncomforatble memories that he had just assumed put aside.  
  
This time, Zoisite did not hesistate putting his hand on his leader's shoulder. He knew the pain that Kunzite was feeling, and also that he had felt it twentyfold harder than any of the other Shitennou. Their time in the Dark Kingdom would always be shameful, no matter how many times Mamoru swore he'd forgiven them.  
  
Despite the incredible turmoil he felt, Kunzite somehow steeled himself and continued. Zoisite's hand never left his shoulder. "Although they had no memory of one another, the Prince and Princess somehow rediscovered each other, and, with help from the Silver Millenium princesses, the sailor senshi, used their newfound powers to fight off the attacks. We were powerful, but--thankfully--they were moreso. One by one they... defeated us," he did not want to say killed, "and protected the Earth from our influence."  
  
He took a breath to speak again, but was having trouble forming the words. There were a hundered memories that haunted him, but this one somehow eclipsed all the others. Nothing caused him greater pain than the knowledge of what he single-handedly did to his Prince. "It was just after the last of the Princess's guardians had appeared. I was... the last of us. My job was to capture the princess, but things took an unexpected turn."  
  
Jadeite and Nephrite looked at Kunzite with sympathy, but could say nothing. Zoisite bit his lip, but his hand never moved. Mamoru tried to look neutral, but the memory was paining him just as much as it was paining Kunzite. Not for what Kunzite did to him - he'd forgiven his friend for that a thousand times over - but that it still wounded him so badly. He'd never be the man he once was until he could forgive himself for what'd he'd done, been forced to do.  
  
"In the heat of battle, I charged up an attack so powerful, it would likely have killed her on impact. But the Prince... he saw it coming, and he..." Kunzite choked. He did not need to say it. They could see it written on his face. "The Princess was overcome by emotion, and the Silver Crystal appeared. That power had been within her all along. Its light filled all of Tokyo, as bright as the day. In that moment, the Prince and Princess regained their memories. As did I."  
  
He took a deep breath, but seemed to find it a little easier now. "When the light faded, I was ordered to capture the Princess and the Silver Crystal. But the impact of the crystal's light filled me with conflicting emotions, and in the confusion I took the Prince instead."  
  
"This was an unexpected surprise for Beryl, but she seemed to take it in stride." Kunzite's tone became sharp, bitter. "She made quick work of healing him, brainwashing him without any memory of serving anyone but herself."  
  
Mamoru winced, gratefully distracted when Jed finally handed him his wallet back. He twirled it around in his fingers, trying to avoid thinking about his time in the Dark Kingdom about as much as the Shitennou were. Malachi was eyeing the both of them with concern, but stayed silent.  
  
"While all this was happening, I began to understand some of the memories that had returned to me. Namely, that I had been serving the wrong master. Had I been thinking properly, I may have actually been able to help him. But under the circumstances, I could not escape that feeling of loyalty towards Beryl, even if it had been imposed on me by her powers. So rather than doing anything useful, I outright challenged what she was doing to the Prince. She immedately saw that I was wavering, and did such a stellar job of brainwashing me again that even now I have trouble remembering what happened next. What I do know is that I too was defeated not long afterward, and the Prince, the last of Beryl's slaves, moved in to take my place."  
  
"The rest are just details," Kunzite muttered, massaging his brow in an attempt to keep his composure. "And I'm not quite sure of them all, at any rate."  
  
"So somewhere between here and there, the Princess saved the Prince, defeated Beryl, and you got trapped in four small semi-precious stones?" Zory offered quietly. Kunzite nodded, and then seemed to droop. He was emotionally exhausted.  
  
"That was a few years ago now," Nephrite said, stepping in to ease the pressure on his leader. "We've been with him ever since."  
  
"It's not much of an existance, but anything beats the Dark Kingdom," added Zoisite. "And we help him, when we can."  
  
"Kinda like guardian angels?" Zory asked, his fear of these phantoms long since evaporated.  
  
Kunzite's mouth twitched in a bitter smile. "I wouldn't call us angels," he said thickly.  
  
"I would," Mamoru muttered, absentmindedly watching his fingers turn the wallet over and over.  
  
"The question now is," Malachi said, slowly getting up from the couch, "what's our relation to you?"  
  
Carefully, he stood next to Kunzite, and then turned back toward his fellow frat boys. "Tell me that's not a painfully striking resemblence."  
  
The three men on the couch blinked furiously, rubbed their eyes, and Neff even turned his head to the side to get a view from all possible angles.  
  
"Identical," he finally decided, incredulous. "Absolutely identical."  
  
"The rest of us, too," Malachi said, gesturing around at the other three Kings, and then back to the couch. "And there has to be some reason for it."  
  
"I can't explain it," Kunzite said, trying to hide his own shock at how closely this human really did resemble him. Right down to the way he spoke, he was a carbon copy. Except for the fact that Malachi was alive, and he was currently not.  
  
Mamoru was watching them as well. He could have told them--without the demonstration--how similar the two groups were. But even though he already knew this, it was still surreal to see doubles of his lifelong guardians.  
  
"I don't mean to pry," Zoisite said subtly, "but how long have you guys been living in California?"  
  
At this, the four men shifted uncomfortably. And mimicking their phantom counterparts perfectly, shifted their focus towards Malachi.  
  
"Uh...By our best estimation, two years," he said, considering it. "Maybe less."  
  
"You mean you don't know?" Jadeite asked, raising an eyebrow.   
  
"Well, no." Malachi sighed. "I would say this sounds far-fetched, but after everything I just heard, your pink elephant Fluffy could walk in here and I'd be no less surprised."  
  
"We have a pink elephant?" Nephrite whispered, and he was elbowed sharply by Zoisite. He would have been, if his elbow hadn't gone right through Nephrite, anyway.  
  
"Cheater," Zoisite whispered back.  
  
"We found ourselves in this frat house," Malachi said, "without any recollection of how we'd gotten here, or why. We were pretty sure we took classes here, but not which ones. We had no memory of anything that had happened to us much before that point, and we still don't."  
  
"In a nutshell, we don't know who we are or why we're in California," Jed added quietly. "All of us have searched for an answer and come up empty. Someone's paying for our education, but no one can tell us who. We've got records-school, health-but we don't remember any of the things labeled on them. Hell, our birth certificates don't even have records of our last names!"  
  
Mamoru could hardly believe what he was hearing. The story sounded surreally like his own. Granted, the time frame was entirely different-no one would send a six-year-old to a university-but he knew very well what it felt like to wake up one day not knowing who you are or where you've been for your entire life.  
  
Zoisite raised a skeptical eyebrow. "So you just popped up here one day with no knowledge of who you are or how you got here? What did the rest of the frat house think of that?"  
  
Neff shrugged. "They assumed we were all drunk and thought we'd fit in rather nicely."  
  
Kunzite and Malachi both looked lost in thought. As soon as they noticed each other, however, both coughed awkwardly and looked away. "So what it looks like," Kunzite said, shaking himself, "is that something happened two years ago, right around the time the four of us were sealed away."  
  
"Sounds like it," Malachi agreed. "But if I'm to understand correctly, most of this took place in Japan. So how did we end up on an entirely seperate continent?"  
  
Nephrite coughed quietly, and everyone looked at him.  
  
"I had a base around here somewhere," he said, looking sheepish. "Before there was a college on top of it, though. I don't know how that might help, but it would explain why you didn't end up somewhere in Canadaian wilderness, being chewed on by moose."  
  
"As he knows from experience."  
  
"Hey, that only happened once, thank you very much."  
  
Malachi did not seem convinced. "Okay, but why North America at all? How many bases did you have?"  
  
"In a word? A lot."  
  
"We were stationed all over the world," Zoisite added, a little more helpfully. "Some of the major bases we had in our former lives, we used again in the Dark Kingdom. I held most of Europe and parts of Russia, Jadeite had China and Korea, Nephrite had North America and some of Central America, and Kunzite had the Middle Eastern area, North Africa, and a few spots in Australia. It wasn't until later that we sensed a strong power in Japan, and shifted our focus there. After that, many of our other bases shut down, in order to strengthen the attack on Japan."  
  
"I had a few stations here in North America that I didn't have the heart to shut down. I was especially fond of the California one, and it was doing so well, I saw no reason to move my youma--er, monsters, out. Many of them were more loyal to me than they were to Beryl, and were more than happy to remain here against her wishes."  
  
"By the way, 'a lot' is two words," Jed said, but was (more successfully this time) elbowed by Zory. "Ow!"  
  
"Is it possible that this base might have some information about us?" Neff said, choosing to entirely ignore Jed and Zory, who had begun to, intentionally or not, mimic a catfight.  
  
Nephrite considered it. "There's a good chance. I've forgotten a lot of the information I stockpiled for Beryl, both intentionally and otherwise. It wouldn't hurt to take a look there."  
  
"That begs the question: where is it?"  
  
There was a strange pause, and Nephrite looked around suspiciously.  
  
"I, er, don't remember. Exactly."  
  
Jadeite smacked his forehead. "Nephrite, has anyone ever told you that you're about as useful as a dried-up glue stick?"  
  
"What, and you're any better? At least I know this area... sort of." They immediately began to bicker almost as viciously as the pair on the couch.  
  
Mamoru slumped down heavily next to Malachi, who was sitting on the edge of his bed, watching the chaos. He gave Mamoru a look of concern. "You alright?" He asked softly, not wanting to alert the whole roomful of people, who would likely embarrass the Japanese man with their worry.  
  
Mamoru nodded distantly. "I'm fine." Actually, he very much did not feel fine at the moment. He was exhausted, both physically and emotionally, and as much as he enjoyed the presence of the Shitennou, the effort of keeping them animated was putting a strain on his depleted resources.  
  
This was not lost on Kunzite, who was a lot more helpful than a dried-up glue stick. "I hate to cut this short," he interrupted sharply, "but the Prince can't keep this up much longer. If we want to keep discussing this, we'll have to pull back into our stones."  
  
"I think we've got a lot to digest for the time being," Malachi said, placing one hand on Mamoru's leg and patting it reassuringly. "Mamoru needs to take a break from straining himself, after nearly being killed three times recently."  
  
Mamoru smiled wanly at him, grateful for the opportunity to take a break. Kunzite thoughtfully watched both of them for a moment before nodding. "You're right. It would be best to stop for now. Get some rest, Prince."  
  
"And don't do anything Jadeite would do!" Zoisite chimed in, before dodging Jadeite's elbow.  
  
With that, the Shitennou vanished from sight. Mamoru watched as the glow faded from the gemstones cupped in his hand. He felt utterly drained, in more ways than one, and would have loved nothing more than to curl up on Malachi's bed and fall asleep.  
  
"Hey, you three. Beat it for a little while." Malachi's tone left no room for dissention, and with a quick grab of Jed and Zory's arms, Neff dragged them forcibly out of the room and shut the newly installed door with his foot.  
  
Mamoru watched them leave, almost amused. "Does he do that a lot?"  
  
"More than you know."  
  
He turned to Mamoru again, and his concerned expression returned. It was not just the fact that he looked sickly pale, or that his eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep. Somehow, knowing what he did about what Mamoru had endured, even if it happened years ago, made him seem a lot more vulnerable than the man who had been glowing outside his window a few hours ago. "Are you sure you're alright? Because you look like you're going to fall asleep right where you're sitting."  
  
Mamoru resisted the urge to say that he was fine, knowing that Malachi was long past believing him. "I'm just tired, is all. I've had a long day."  
  
"Well you haven't fainted in, like, two hours. I'm impressed."  
  
Mamoru gave Malachi a half-hearted punch to the arm, which was more like a feeble swat. "Don't put it past me."  
  
"Look, you need to get some sleep. I'll make myself comfortable on the couch, and you take the be--"  
  
"No." Mamoru shook his head. "You're the injured party, which I'm to blame for, and this is your room. Besides, I probably need to get back to what's left of my dorm, in case the police want my...um..."  
  
"Statement?"  
  
"Yeah. That."  
  
Malachi shook his head. "The police can wait. You're barely getting by as it is. Even if you don't take the bed--"  
  
"No. I... I shouldn't be staying here."  
  
"And why not?"  
  
Mamoru stared at the floor. "Because you've already been hurt once tonight because of me," he said quietly. "There will be more of those girls. And I don't know when they'll attack, but..."  
  
Malachi placed a hand on his back. "Mamoru, I don't care about that. Maybe there's a reason I look so much like your former guardian. I want to help you, even if it means I'll get hurt in the process."  
  
"You don't understand," he snapped. "I've already lost one set of Shitennou. I don't want to lose another."  
  
"No, I think I understand perfectly well," Malachi snapped back, much to Mamoru's surprise. "It's very noble to be worried about us, and you have every reason to. But we're not going to die without a fight, and I wouldn't think you'd have any more of those tonight."  
  
"I--"  
  
"Stay here, or don't. It's your choice. But you're welcome in this house, if that's what you decide." Malachi got up from the bed slowly, and shuffled over to the lightswitch. Turning it off caused a small nightlight to go on in the outlet by his desk, and he shuffled over to the couch in the darkness.  
  
Mamoru watched in silence as Malachi lay down on the couch and turned his back to him. He knew that he should be saying something profound right now, but his weariness pretty much obliterated any eloquence he may have otherwise had. After several minutes of listening to the white-haired man's rhythmic breathing, he rose to his feet, pulled the quilt off the bed, and draped it over Malachi's still frame. With a resigned sigh, he turned away, and softly crossed the room.  
  
As his hand rested on the door knob, Malachi's voice stopped him. "I would, you know. I would protect you, just like they did."  
  
"I know you would."  
  
Mamoru exited the room quietly, feeling just the slightest bit guilty for not taking Malachi up on his offer. The loud, drunken party that had started early in the evening had already worn off, and as he maneuvered around the various bodies passed out on the rug, his thoughts continued to come back to the situation of the white-haired man and his friends.  
  
They had no memories of anything. They had arrived at Stanford at the same time the Shitennou were sealed in their stones. The logical explaination appeared in Mamoru's mind, as the puzzle pieces slid together, but it wasn't particularly logical in normal terms.  
  
"The bodies," he muttered, as the cold air of the outside blasted him in the face. "The physical bodies of the Shitennou. What happened to them?"  
  
He knew that the corpses had been mutilated well beyond the point of looking like they had once been. Jadeite had been burnt to a crisp, Nephrite had been fried by lightning, Zoisite had been shredded, and Kunzite... well, with a simultaneous attack from four sailor senshi, there might not have been anything left. Still, he knew of two powers that had the ability to breathe life into a dead body--Metallia and the Ginzuishou. Neither seemed the least bit likely.  
  
//Especially,// he thought, //if their spirits are already sealed away somewhere else.//  
  
But then, hadn't Hotaru once told him about how she regained her powers around the time of Nehellenia's attack? How Saturn--nearly a full-grown teenager--had appeared in the little girl's mirror? Weren't they just like two separate beings then, speaking to one another as though they'd never met?  
  
But then, Saturn knew of Hotaru's existance.  
  
"So this plan isn't perfect yet," he muttered. "But it's a start."  
  
Not long after, he collided into something with a lot of blonde hair.  
  
"Mamoru!" She cried incredulously, her shimmering blue eyes filled to the brim with worry. "Thank goodness you're okay! I've been so worried!"  
  
"Um... hi Lunette," he said awkwardly, politely trying to pull away his hand, which she had taken in both of her own and squeezed like a lifeline. "Why were you so worried?"  
  
"You're joking, right? Mamoru, your dorm burned down and you've been missing for hours! Of course I was worried!"  
  
//You're worried about a complete stranger you've only known for twelve hours?// Mamoru considered saying this aloud, but considering recent events, he was in no position to throw stones.  
  
"How bad is it over there?" he asked quietly. "Is the whole building lost?"  
  
She waved a dismissive hand. "Your floor was pretty much trashed, but the ones below it weren't quite as bad. Don't worry, no one was injured," she added quickly, anticipating his next question. "But I saw your name on the list of missing people, and I..." For a moment, she seemed so much like Usagi that he expected her to start crying. Lunette, however, immediately perked up. "Well, I'm glad you're alright, anyway."  
  
"Thank you," he said, and rather meant it. Maybe he wasn't giving this girl enough credit.  
  
And maybe he wasn't paying enough attention to the burning that had risen in his chest as soon as he'd recognized the blonde.  
  
"Mamoru-san!" The sharp cry drove him out of his reverie. "You're hurt!"  
  
He looked down at himself; yes, indeed he was. He was still burned and charred, what from being more than mildly electrocuted, and his face was still sore and swollen from a five-story drop through a window.  
  
"Well, that tends to happen to people who fall out of fiery buildings."  
  
"You poor thing!" She gasped, clenching his hand even harder and dragging him in some important direction. "We need to get those burns taken care of! C'mon over to my place, and--"  
  
"Er... no, I don't think that'll be necessary."  
  
"What do you mean? Of course it is! Now, I may not be as good as you at bandaging a wound, but I do have plenty of supplies at home, and there's an extra bed, so--"  
  
"No, really, I'm fine. Look, I already had a friend take care of it, see?" He showed her his bandaged upper arm, hoping that in the darkness she could not see the red patches where some of the blood had already soaked through.  
  
"Oh." She seemed a little deflated after that. "Well... well at least come make use of that bed, okay?"  
  
"That's very kind of you, but I have to go tell ... someone that I'm not missing," he tried lamely. "I wouldn't want people to send out a search party."  
  
//And I already turned down one offer for sleep, and that was from a male. I can just see Rei's face when she finds out I was in a woman's dorm, in her bed...//  
  
In the dark, Mamoru could not see the dangerous flash in Lunette's eyes. "At least let me come with you, then!"  
  
The determined way in which she clamped onto his arm left him no room for argument. Besides, she seemed so attached to him, he could see no easy way of letting her down without bruising her fragile emotions. And she was so much like Usako...  
  
The girl seemed quite pleased to have him back after her horrible ordeal of worrying about him, and cheerfully led him back towards what was left of his dorm. "I'm sure some police are still around, Mamoru-kun!"  
  
"You keep changing the suffix on my name. Do you ever make up your mind?"  
  
"I'll call you whatever you want me too, Mamoru-kun!" At this, she tightened her hold on his arm; an action that somehow pushed her body closer to his, so that he could feel the soft brush of cotton against his skin. Her hair brushed against his chest, emitting a strange, sweet smell that was not altogether unpleasant. It was not the sugary, delicate sweetness of his Usako. It was more exotic somehow, like a tangy piece of fruit. "What should it be? Mamoru-san? Mamoru-kun? Or even..." she added with an endearing giggle, "Mamochan?"  
  
Mamoru's breath seized up as soon as the name left Lunette's lips. No, no one was allowed to call him that except his Usako. No one.  
  
"I'd prefer Mamoru-kun, thank you," he snapped, harsher than he intended.  
  
Lunette looked at him, wide-eyed. "I-I'm sorry, did I hit a nerve?" she stuttered. "Please don't be mad..."  
  
"I'm not mad, I just..." he sighed. Maybe he was taking things a tad too seriously. "Are you studying Japanese?" He asked, trying to steer the conversation somewhere else.  
  
"Yes!" She replied eagerly. "Maybe sometime you can help me study."  
  
"Yeah, maybe," he said in a rather noncommital voice. "Well, 'chan' isn't all that appropriate in this situation anyway, being that I'm male. And I'm not sure, but I think I may be older than you."  
  
"What year are you in, Mamoch--Mamoru-kun?"  
  
"Second year."  
  
Lunette giggled, and he could have sworn that she was blushing. "Oh, now I feel terribly embarassed! I'm only a freshman!"  
  
//Not as embarassed as I am.//  
  
Thankfully, he was saved from further embarassment as they arrived at the scene. In the dim glow of the streetlights, the upper floors of the building looked like a gutted carcass. It was nearly impossible to tell which of the black, mutilated windows had belonged to him. //Well, at least they won't be able to blame me for what happened.//  
  
A few tired-looking policemen were still milling about, leaning on their cars, talking to people, and otherwise looking important.  
  
"Excuse me," Mamoru called, hoping to flag down the attention of any one of them. "I'd like to, um, tell you that I'm not missing any longer!"  
  
This only caused Lunette to giggle again.  
  
"What?" What could possibly be making this girl laugh now?   
  
"It's just... I dunno, such an untechnical thing for a doctor to say."  
  
In the darkness, she could not see his slight flush of embarrassment. "Give me a break. This isn't my native language, you know."   
  
//And I'm tired after blasting sparkly things at evil clones, thank you very much.//  
  
She grinned sweetly. "Aww, don't be upset. I think it's cute!"  
  
//Oh good. Now she thinks I'm cute. Shoot me for flirting without trying.//  
  
"You know," Mamoru said, trying to pull his arm out of her grip, "it's very thoughtful of you to try and help me out. But you don't have to stay; I bet you've got some studying to do."  
  
"Oh, I'll just explain it to my professors. They'll understand!" Undeterred, she snuggled in further. "I'd just hate it if you got hurt..."  
  
"There's police all over here. How could I possibly get hurt?"  
  
//By hanging out with a young, attractive female, that's how. Namely by a hoard of Sailor Senshi who would hitch the first plane over here so that they could personally skin me alive the moment they got word of it.//  
  
"Hurt again," she amended. Even as he continued his attempt at pulling away, the blonde refused to let him go. Pull, cling. Pull, cling.  
  
"Really," Mamoru said, strained. "I appreciate your concern, but--"  
  
Lunette looked up at him, blue eyes watering in the dim light. "Mamoru-kun, please. I...I just want to help you."   
  
Mamoru resisted the urge to groan. Every person he came in contact with tonight seemed determined to smother him with kindness. What was with this university? (Come to think of it, they all seemed to be flirting with him too, but that was beside the point.)  
  
The point was that he was engaged to a perfectly amazing goddess, and had no room in his life to be dating other people. That said, he would need to figure out some tactful way to explain to this poor girl that while she indeed shared some of said goddess's qualities, she simply came into his life a few millenia too late and would regretfully have to look elsewhere for a soulmate.  
  
"Look, Lunette, I..."  
  
"Hey, are you by any chance Mamoru Chiba?" A portly policeman waddled up to him, his head craned backwards in order to look the much taller Mamoru in the eye.  
  
//Saved by the policeman, Lunette.// "I am," he said. "And I'm not, uh, missing anymore."  
  
"Good to hear." The policeman smiled amicably, pulling out a notepad to jot that down. "I see your girlfriend patched you up nicely, but we'd still like to check you out. Make sure you don't have any major injuries."  
  
"She's not my--"  
  
"Oh, he isn't--"  
  
An uncomfortable silence followed, in which the policeman confusedly stared at both of them. He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Uh... alrighty. Well Mr. Chiba, if you'd come this way please."  
  
"No really, I'm--"  
  
"Miss, I know how you feel, but I'm afraid you'll have to stay here."  
  
"--really not feeling that great. Sorry Lunette, I guess we can meet up later." Mamoru somehow had a newfound appreciation for policemen.  
  
No one noticed the dirty look Lunette shot at the policeman as she relinquished Mamoru's arm. She pulled a small piece of paper from her jacket and stuffed it in one of his back pants pockets.  
  
"Call me, okay?" she said quietly, and then turned and walked away towards the womens' dorms.  
  
The policeman chuckled. "Not your girlfriend, huh?"  
  
Mamoru watched her leave. "Honestly, I can't quite tell."  
  
----  
  
It had been five hours, eleven minutes, and twenty four seconds, by Mamoru's estimation, since he had gone flying out a window. Since he had spilled most of his extremely long, legend-filled life to four previously unknown frat boys.  
  
And since he'd had a change of underwear at his disposal.  
  
Other than that minor inconvenience, he had been pronounced adequately healthy and allowed to leave of his own will. After thanking the kind policeman who had so wonderfully rescued him from the grip of cuteness, he merrily hobbled on his way.  
  
It was well past midnight by now. Fortunately, some of the buildings were open all night. At the very least, he could get in out of the cold.  
  
The cafeteria was nearly deserted as he shuffled inside, thankful for the warmth. He bought some black coffee from the nearest vending machine and sank down at a table, suddenly overwhelmed with weariness.  
  
It was not only this Usako-lookalike that tired him. It was not only the Shitennou-lookalikes that bothered him. And it was not only the Senshi-lookalikes that bothered him.  
  
It was the fact that there were so many damn lookalikes running aroudn that bothered him.  
  
"I feel like I'm in a bad movie from the '50s," Mamoru muttered into his coffee. "Invasion of the Pod People. Just...just too weird."  
  
He knew he would not get sleep tonight. He had too many things on his mind. He was still sore from no less than three battles - battles he never would have won a day ago.  
  
For that matter, he could not even figure out HOW he had survived all those battles. Since when did he have golden Senshi-like attacks? What did he call that thing, Tuxedo Mirage? Where the heck did that come from, and why did it sound like the name of a harlequin romance novel?  
  
Okay, well apparently someone forgot to tell him that oh, by the way, the Golden Crystal is awesome. If only he'd figured all this out a couple years ago, maybe that would have helped things a little.  
  
But then, the Golden Crystal had only been unsealed after Nehellenia's attack, hadn't it? And barely a few weeks later, he had met an untimely death at the hands of Galaxia. The more he thought about it, the more Mamoru realized that other than that single battle, he'd had absolutely no opportunity to try the Golden Crystal out.  
  
Until now, that is.  
  
Now, he had more opportunities than he wanted. Sure, he could defend himself against these vigilante Senshi-clones. But did he want to? Hell, no. Fighting wasn't the way he liked to solve problems.  
  
Of course, it was another thing if the other person started it.  
  
"Why me?" Mamoru wondered quietly, resting his head on the table. "Why now? Why can't I ever have one life experience that isn't dictated by having a Sailor crystal?"  
  
It had always been this way. First, he had been a prince. Then, he had been a masked thief, searching for his identity. Then he was a masked hero. Then he was brainwashed. Then he was, to put it mildly, roadkill. Lather, rinse, repeat.  
  
Just thinking about his experiences over the past few years made him exhausted. He took another sip of his coffee, hoping it would help clear his head and dissipate his throbbing headache, but it tasted rather like watered-down hot sludge and did little to make him feel better.  
  
He again dropped his head on the table and folded his arms around it, blocking out the glaring light of the cafeteria. "I hate my life," he muttered miserably. "If it weren't for Usa, none of this would be worth it."  
  
Just then, his pants started ringing.  
  
With a start, Mamoru fumbled around in his pocket for his phone. Finally being able to turn it on, he attempted to greet his caller with, "Hello, this is Mamoru."  
  
What came out more resembled, "'lo. 'S Mam'ru."  
  
"Mamoru-san? Is that you?"  
  
"Uh, yes," he said, pretty sure that it was. Of course, he could have been a polkadotted goldfish by this point and would have been no more surprised. "This is?"  
  
"It's Rei. Mamoru-san, you don't sound well. Have you been studying too hard?"  
  
Rei? Why would Rei, of all people, be calling him? A sudden pang of dread washed over him. What if there was an attack? What if something happened to Usako? What if she's hurt? What if she needs him?  
  
A million scenarios rushed through his mind in the span of about half a second, edging his voice with near-panic. "Rei-chan? What is it? Did something happen? Are there enemies--"  
  
"Mamoru-san, calm down," she said in a commanding voice. "Usagi-chan's alright, she's just - wait, what was that about enemies?"  
  
Mamoru nearly cursed himself for the slip. He did not want the other Senshi to know about the attacks, and he ESPECIALLY did not want Usako to know about the attacks. The moment she found out, she'd have a whole army of Sailor Senshi on the fastest plane to California, all gung-ho to rescue the useless Prince who needed his girlfriend to save him at every given moment. Besides, he did not want Usako to worry. Because worrying Usako was on his list of things that he would never, ever do.  
  
"Oh, you know me. Paranoid and delusional," he remarked lamely. Trying to distract Rei from his comment, he proceeded with, "Usako is just 'what?'"  
  
"She had to have emergency surgery, for...Mamoru-san? Are you breathing over there?"  
  
"No," Mamoru squeeked. Surgery? What could have happened to cause Usako to need surgery? She was perfectly healthy! Sure, she ate too many sweets, but she wasn't overweight, and--  
  
"It was just her appendix, Mamoru-san. I can hear you having a heart attack from over here, so you can relax and know that she's recovering just fine. She'll want to call you when she wakes up, and I just wanted to warn you, in case you were going to be in class. To suggest you put your phone on vibrate, so you don't disturb your professor."  
  
Mamoru let out the air he was holding in. "Thank you. I don't think you have to worry much about that; I usually don't have it on ringer."  
  
//Except after my dorm burns down and I've been attacked by clones.//  
  
Rei was silent for a moment. "Mamoru-san, are you alright? You don't sound too good."  
  
"I'm fine, Rei-chan. It's just late over here."  
  
"Oh no, I didn't wake you up, did I? Or have you been studying all night?"  
  
"Well you know me, the big academic."  
  
"Just don't go making yourself sick, alright? Usagi-chan would be worried to no end."  
  
//Like you need to tell me that.//  
  
"I'm trying very hard to take care of myself, for Usako's sake. It's mostly working."  
  
Rei's tone was dubious. "'Mostly?'"  
  
Mamoru winced, but chuckled lightly. "As a future doctor, I can tell you that all-nighters don't tend to be healthy."  
  
"I suppose not," she said, chuckling a little herself. "Don't worry about this too much, okay? Usagi-chan will be up in the next hour or two. She'll perk right up when you start cooing sweet nothings into her ear."  
  
"Good to know."  
  
"Okay, well I'd better stop wasting your minutes. I'll let Usagi-chan know that you'll be waiting for her call."  
  
"Thank you. Oh, and Rei-chan--"  
  
Rei paused. "Yes?"  
  
"I... take care of her, alright?"  
  
He could almost hear her smile at him. "I will, Mamoru-san. Take care."  
  
"Bye." Mamoru hung up his phone, his stomach feeling like it had been turned to lead. Usako. His Usako. His poor, sweet, innocent, delicate Usako... trapped in a hospital without him.  
  
This was turning out to be a very, very long day. Placing his phone back in his pocket, he rested his head on the table again. At the very least, he could try to rest his eyes. It would do him no good to drop off in class, especially if he would be awaiting a call from Usako. In his confusion, he might mistake his cellphone for something entirely inappropriate.  
  
"...okay, if I'm thinking ecchi, I really do need to sleep," he muttered.  
  
With everything that had happened to him, and all the pressing issues rolling about in his head, he thought it would be difficult to get to sleep. But the day's events had left him exhausted, and no sooner did Mamoru close his eyes than he drifted into a deep, unbroken sleep.  
  
----  
  
"...ru. Mamoru. Hey, wake up."  
  
He opened his eyes, but immediately wished he hadn't, as all he was met with was a flood of painfully bright sunlight. Mamoru groaned elequently, trying to squeeze his eyelids shut against the light that seemed intent on shooting little daggers into his retina.   
  
A hand was on his back, gently shaking him. He turned his head to look at whoever it was, wincing at the stiff pain in his neck.  
  
"Malachi?" He was relatively confident that that was who he was speaking to, but it was hard to tell with his eyes closed.  
  
"No, it's the Tooth Fairy. Don't tell me you spent the whole night asleep in here."  
  
"Fine. I won't tell you."  
  
Malachi sighed, disapproving. "So you turned down my offer of a bed so you could get a kink in your back at the cafeteria. It makes perfect sense."  
  
"It makes perfect sense when you take into account that I've probably lost my mind." He sat up and rubbed at his eyes in an attempt to wake himself up, but only succeeded in making them look more red.  
  
Malachi was watching him, the concerned expression never leaving his face. "You should have stayed."  
  
"But I didn't. So there isn't much we can do about it now. Besides," he stopped rubbing his eyes and looked up at Malachi, "yours wasn't the only offer I turned down, so don't feel bad."  
  
"Don't take offense to this, Mamoru," Malachi said, pulling up a hard plastic chair, "but who else could have offered you a room? You told me yourself that you didn't know many people on campus."  
  
"I did?"  
  
"You implied it."  
  
"Well, one other person. She seems to have become very attached to me," Mamoru admitted. "Which I would normally appreciate, except that she's very zealous about it. I've barely even known her a day."  
  
"Yes, that does seem a little odd," Malachi deadpanned.  
  
"Oh, shut up. The Shitennou make our situation null and void."  
  
"Do they, now?"  
  
"Yes. ...I'm just not sure how." It was much too early in the morning for deep thought. Especially deep thought regarding clones of dead guardians.  
  
"I'm not here just because of them," he said sharply, a dangerously icy edge in his voice.  
  
Mamoru stared at him, stunned by the sudden change in Malachi's tone. "I know you're not," he said softly.  
  
When Mamoru looked back down at the table, and his cup congealed pseudo-coffe, Malachi sighed. Why the hell had he said that? "Mamoru, that was terribly rude of me, and entirely uncalled for. I'm sorry."  
  
"No, it's okay," Mamoru said, running a hand through his greasy, matted hair. "I just meant that, because of them, I feel like I've known you longer. I didn't mean that you were..."  
  
"I know you didn't." Malachi paused, then looked at his watch. "Don't you have a class?"  
  
"What time is it?"  
  
"7:55."  
  
"...fuck," Mamoru cursed conversationally. "Freud101 starts in five minutes. And I have neither books, nor notes, nor ... well, clean underwear."  
  
Malachi visibly brightened, and opened his backpack. He produced a plastic grocery bag that looked nearly filled to capacity. "Got you covered there. I don't have any of the same books as you, of course, but I figured you'd be needing some pens and notepaper, and... other essentials."  
  
For a moment, all Mamoru could do was stare blankly at him. "...you did that for me?" He croaked.  
  
Malachi rolled his eyes and slid the bag across the table to him. "Dude, it's paper and boxers. It's not like I'm opening a vein for you here."  
  
"Have I ever told you I loved you?"  
  
"Not in this lifetime, no."  
  
Mamoru paused mid-action, removing a notebook from the bag. "What was that?"  
  
"Nothing." Malachi found it impossible to surpress a smirk, which caused Mamoru to return the favor.  
  
"Don't start saying things like that, or eight very angry, scantily clad women will hop a plane and come looking for your head," he warned. As an afterthought, he added, "Or mine."  
  
Malachi could hardly contain his laughter. "Those girls would suspect you of cheating on your girlfriend with another guy? No wonder you avoid friendships."  
  
"I wouldn't put it past them." He glanced up at the clock. "Okay, now I really am going to be late. Thanks a ton, Malachi." He stiffly got to his feet and gathered up the bag of goodies Malachi had given him.  
  
"Hey, no problem. See you later, Mamoru."  
  
As Mamoru left the cafeteria, bag in hand, he wondered how he had ever survived so long without people like Malachi around.  
  
//By being a cold, arrogant pain-in-the-ass to everyone I came across. That's how.//  
  
He jogged quickly up a flight of stairs, then another and another, bag of supplies rustling loudly in the empty hallway. //Good thing those days are over.//  
  
He arrived at his class only two minuts late; thankfully, it was in a giant lecture hall, and he managed to slip in an empty seat by the door. A woman with wavy teal hair turned around to give him a pointed glare. Mamoru raised an eyebrow - he hadn't made that much noise.  
  
When she kept staring, he figured it had little to do with the fact that he had come in late.  
  
The girl next to her--a perky little thing with short blonde hair--turned to follow her companion's gaze. When she spotted Mamoru she gave him an energetic wave, and was promptly smacked by the teal-haired one.  
  
Oh shit, he thought despairingly. Why do they have to show up now? In class, of all times?  
  
After a silent argument, in which the blonde rapidly flailed her arms around like a mad chicken and the teal-hair made ready to strangle her companion, both finally turned to face the professor again. Mamoru felt a small twinge of relief. At least they weren't going to attack him in class. Now, if he could just sneak out the door without their noticing...  
  
Someone behind him cleared their throat. He glanced up at her--another woman, this one with long blonde hair. She arrogantly raised her eyebrows, as if to say "take one step towards that door and I'll rip off a few things that I'm sure you'll miss."  
  
//Are all Senshi, evil clones or not, trained to use that look on me?// He slumped back into his chair. At the very least, he could try to get them outside before their likely impending battle injured any students.  
  
The lecture went rather without incident, although the blonde and her companion appeared to keep trying to play tongue-hockey without anyone noticing. It didn't work, and finally the blonde behind him threw a shoe to quiet her friends down.  
  
//...even Haruka-san and Michiru-san would take it someplace private. Like a bathroom.// Mamoru tried not to chuckle aloud. //Or the library.//  
  
Despite the humerous interlude, the entire class was nerve-racking. Every little noise startled him, as he half-expected to be pummeled by a Crescent Beam from behind or a Deep Submerge from in front. Nothing so grand as a powerful attack could break the tension, however, and by the time the professor dismissed them, he was so preoccupied that he almost missed it. He quickly stuffed the unused notebook and pen back into the bag and made to run off.  
  
Unfortunately, the blonde from the row behind him was already standing in his path. "Going somewhere?"  
  
"...well, apparently not," he said, nervously noting that she was nearly eye to eye with him. //Minako can't be nearly that tall...//  
  
Her red bow was almost comical, because the rest of her outfit (or what could have been described loosely as such) was comprised mostly of leather. A skull-and-crossbones tattoo was visible on her collarbone.   
  
"Can I help you?" he continued, after a moment.  
  
"Miniya." She didn't offer her hand in greeting; she just stared Mamoru down, a very suspicious gleam in her eye. "I have some business to discuss with you."  
  
Mamoru hoped the business didn't involve a henshin wand.  
  
He was about to say "what kind of business?" but his question turned to a yelp when he was grabbed from behind by a much shorter and significantly friendlier blonde. The fact that she did not seem intent on killing him just then was hardly a comfort, as her roaming hands appeared to be much more interested in something equally immoral.  
  
"You're a lot cuter than I expected!" She chirped, apparently trying to get under his shirt.  
  
"Do I know you?" He squeaked, tried to squirm out of her grasp, but it was like trying to disentangle oneself from a herd of starving leeches.  
  
"I don't think so," she said thoughtfully, "but I'm sure you could get to know me real quick. My name's Hasana."  
  
Before his shirt managed to come off, Hasana was smacked roughly on the back of her head.  
  
"Ow," moaned Hasana, pulling her hands away from one awkwardly blushing Mamoru. "Mackenzie, you bitch, save that for the bedroom."  
  
"Flirty little whore. Why do I put up with you?" The teal-haired woman picked up a guitar case - at least, he hoped there was a guitar in it, and not, say, explosives - and brushed a stray hair from her face.  
  
"Because I give you what you want." Almost immediately, the little blonde's attention had been diverted, and she clung to Mackenzie's arm.  
  
Her lover now firmly attached to her arm, Mackenzie relented a bit, and instead turned her wrath on Mamoru. "Think you can steal my girl just like that, do ya?"  
  
"I... I..." Mamoru stuttered, trying to back away from the vicious-looking woman, whose clothes were torn and frayed, and looked as though they had not been washed in months.  
  
"Typical male," growled Miniya from behind him. "Turn your back on them for two seconds, and already they're fondling some bimbo."  
  
"You'd better watch your mouth, Miniya!" Mackenzie snarled, glaring past Mamoru at the much taller girl.  
  
"That so, Mackenzie?" She said, roughly shoving Mamoru aside to tower over the teal-haired woman.  
  
"Hey!" Hasana interjected, with a tone that said, "HELLO YOU ARE NOT PAYING ATTENTION TO ME."  
  
"I hate to interrupt this rare moment of testosterone from the both of you, but we're supposed to be fighting him!"  
  
When she pointed at Mamoru, he blanched.  
  
"Nothing personal," she added sweetly.  
  
"You could do that," he said warily. "Only..."  
  
"What?" Mackenzie demanded, balling her fist irritably.  
  
"Well, you ladies look like three powerful females. Well," he reconsidered, "two powerful females. I'd just like to know who will throw the first hit."  
  
"What?" Miniya spat.  
  
"Well it would have to be the strongest one, right? So which of you is it?"  
  
"Me," both women said at once, then immediately turned to glare at each other. Mamoru resisted the urge to grin. He doubted he could get them at each other's throats enough to beat up one another instead of, say, himself, but maybe he could at least distract them long enough to lure them outside. He certainly did not want one of his classrooms to be destroyed.  
  
Hasana pouted. "Guys! We're fighting him!"  
  
"Excuse me?" Mackenzie ignored her lover-if she'd call her that-and brushed one of Miniya's shoulders with a grungy hand. "You might have the bondage gear, but I'm the one with muscle."  
  
Miniya copied the gesture, but it was more of a forceful shove than a brush. "Oh, that's what we're calling the excess flab in your ass these days?"  
  
"GUYS! Stop it! ...or save it for the bedroom!" Hasana flailed her arms around frantically, trying to get their attention. Slowly, oh ever so slowly, Mamoru began to inch toward the door that led to the hallway.   
  
"You should be a little more careful, if you don't want that cute little tattoo of yours to be ripped off and shoved down your throat."  
  
"How about you talk to me after you take a bath? Or is the dirt the only thing holding your fat ass off the floor?"  
  
"Excuse me, I hate to interrupt," Hasana errupted, vying for attention, "but the freaking guy is getting away!"  
  
All three turned to the door just in time to see it swing shut.  
  
"Shit."  
  
//Where to go, where to go?// Mamoru thought, quickly bursting through a group of students, looking frantically in all directions. He did the only thing he could: run straight ahead. //I've got to get outside, and fast, or there's going to be--//  
  
"Crescent Beam!"  
  
//--chaos. Too late.// He looked over his head as a lighting fixture was severed from its cord and smashed to the floor, nearly missing the feet (and heads) of some very lucky psychology undergrads. He turned the corner and went dashing down the flight of stairs. The doorway was in sight when he turned his head - something sounding very similar to "World Shaking!" could be heard in the hallway above him - and plowed right into two unsuspecting strangers.  
  
"Mamoru?" Zory dropped his books from the collision, but made no move to pick them up. "Why the hurry?"  
  
"Evil women," he panted, gesturing with his hand as if to explain. "Coming after me. Have to get out of the building. Mass carnage ensuing."  
  
If anyone else had said this to Zory, he would likely accuse them of having one too many. But considering the bizarre circumstances of last night's events, he was inclined to think otherwise.  
  
"Deep Submerge!" The aqua-colored ball soared past their heads and took out a row of lockers, hurling them onto the floor and nearly blocking the path to the door.   
  
Mamoru was about to make an attempt at it anyway, when both Zory and Neff grabbed him and shoved him into the nearest utility closet, slamming the door mere seconds before a furious Mackenzie went charging past them.  
  
"You there!" someone - he guessed Miniya - barked from outside the door. "Hey! Don't you run away from me!"  
  
He sighed in relief; at least they'd managed to get away. But now he was trapped in the closet, where he would surely be found, and he would have no chance of getting out without getting maimed. As quietly as he could, he slumped down against a stack of brooms, leaning on an air vent.  
  
This day was turning out to be about as much fun as yesterday. He could only run from the three clones for so long before he would have to fight them. It was not as though he could call for backup or anything.  
  
And quite frankly, taking on three at once did not sound the least bit enjoyable. He seemed to have a difficult enough time with one.  
  
He leaned the back of his head against the air vent, suddenly remembering how tired he was. The few hours of sleep he had caught in the cafeteria could hardly be called restful, especially under the circumstances. Being that he was a med student, as well as a former student of the Japanese school system, he was quite accustomed to getting by on very little sleep and scattered, less than healthy meals. But such a lifestyle hardly took into account fighting evil Sailor Senshi from hell with sparkly magic powers that make him faint. He knew that he probably could not keep up like this much longer, and that it was likely only sheer will that had kept him from passing out from exhaustion.  
  
Of course, to keep him from passing out, his cellphone began to ring.  
  
"Crap," he muttered, fumbling around in the dark closet in the hopes he could muffle it, or try to turn it off. Finally, he just pulled the thing out and answered.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"MamochanwherehaveyoubeenI'vebeentryingtocallyouforhoursbutyouweren'tansweringand--"  
  
"Usako, relax," he whispered hoarsely. "I was in class, and I didn't feel the phone ringing."  
  
Mamoru swallowed hard at that realization. He had meant to put his phone in his pocket, but somehow it had ended up in the bag of supplies Malachi had given him. Only when he was planning to leave did he remember to take it out.  
  
"Oh." Usagi audibly deflated. "I'm sorry, Mamochan, I should have guessed--"  
  
"No, Usako, that's my fault."  
  
"Mamochan, why are you whispering? You're not still in class, are you?"  
  
"Uh, no, I'm in the library. How are you doing?"  
  
At the question, he could almost hear the tears spring into her eyes. "Oh Mamochan it's so horrible and I hate it here and I don't like the food and I missed my favorite show and the nurses are so mean and I've got an IV in my arm and I hate this stupid gown and YOU'RE NOT HERE!"  
  
Mamoru suddenly felt an incredible sense of guilt welling up in his throat. It was bad enough that he could not be there when his Usako needed him, but he could not even perform the simple task of answering a phone. The poor girl was upset enough without him throwing that extra worry on her shoulders.  
  
Usagi sniffled quietly. "But I know you're working hard; Rei-chan told me you sounded like you'd been pulling all-nighters. So, I suppose you can be forgiven this once."  
  
"You don't know how much I want to be there," he whispered. "I feel terrible enough being on an entirely seperate continent when you're well..."  
  
"Mamochan, I can hear you starting to guilt from across the Pacific. I'm just happy to hear your voice."  
  
"And I'm happy to hear yours. Is the hospital really that awful, Usako? You know Haruka-san would probably be willing to beat up anyone who's not treating you right."  
  
Usagi giggled. "She already has."  
  
Mamoru resisted the urge to laugh, pitying the poor soul who had to face the wrath of Haruka. "I'm sure that went over well."  
  
"Oh, you should see them run now, Mamochan. They even give me extra pillows if I ask nicely."  
  
"Are the other girls there? They're taking good care of you, aren't they?"  
  
Usagi sighed. "Mamochan, they won't STOP taking care of me. It was hard enough getting them to give me a few moments to call you."  
  
"And now they're probably pressed against the door, waiting for you to hang up," Mamoru guessed. By the way his Usako sighed, he assumed he'd guessed right. "You know they only hover because they care about you, Usako."  
  
"I know, Mamochan, I know they do. I just wish they'd do it in a more discreet manner. Like, I don't know, not punching orderlies in the jaw and things."  
  
"If you expect them not to do that, you're in with the wrong crowd."  
  
Usagi giggled. "Ami-chan DOES pack a rather mean punch."  
  
//More than you realize,// he thought, rubbing his jaw.  
  
"How about the food?" Contrary to popular belief, Mamoru was well aware of Usagi's love affair with food, and was only marginally jealous. He did, however, sometimes wish she would look at him the way she looked at a stick of sesame seed dango.  
  
"It's terrible, Mamochan! I think it must have been genetically engineered to be tasteless." She paused, then giggled again. "But Mako-chan has been sneaking in some of her cooking every time she visits. The nurses don't seem to mind, as long as I don't anything really unhealthy."  
  
Suddenly, Mamoru heard a sharp pounding on the door, followed by a heated argument. He swallowed his response to his fiancé, and waited until the noise ceased.  
  
"Mamochan? What's that noise?"  
  
Mamoru held his breath, not daring to speak.  
  
"Mamochan? ...Mamochan, where are you?"  
  
But if he didn't say something soon, she'd get worried. Or worse, she'd get upset.  
  
"Mamochan?" Her voice was getting shrill now. Darnit, she was worried. And if her voice got any louder, they'd hear her, even over that persistant banging.  
  
"Mamochan, please answer me!"  
  
"I'm here, Usako. I'm sorry, I think we've got a bad connection."  
  
"Oh, fuck this!" Mackenzie shrilled from outside. "Deep Submerge!"  
  
"Mamochan, what was that?" Usagi squeeked. Michiru was definitely not all the way over THERE; she was discreetly hiding out side the door of her room, trying to listen in on the conversation (not that she'd ever admit it).  
  
"I'm gonna have to call you back, Usako," he said sharply as the door splintered inward with a loud crack.  
  
"Mamochan, what's going on over there?!" Usagi was nearly shouting--no doubt alerting the hoard of girls pressed against her door.  
  
"Uh, I think there's a convention in town, and cosplayers have just invaded the library." Mamoru winced, knowing that was probably the worst lie he had ever come up with in his entire life.   
  
A disturbingly gleeful "World Shaking" smashed against the door, nearly shattering it and showering him in broken splinters.  
  
"Pretty crappy hiding place, Prince," Hasana chirped, eyeing him through a gaping hole. She waved her Space Sword at him as though he was a naughty puppy.  
  
"Mamochan--"  
  
"Space Sword--"  
  
"Submarine--"   
  
"--Blaster!"  
  
"--Reflection!"  
  
"I love you, Usak--" Mamoru tried to cut the phonecall off, but a very bright beam of water and light blasted into his chest like a semi truck. With nowhere to go but backwards, he slammed right through the closet's wall and down, head over heels, into the airvent.  
  
"Stupid," Miniya clucked, watching him disappear. No one was sure if she was referring to Mamoru, or her companions.  
  
Mamoru tumbled down the airvent for what seemed like an absurdly long time, hitting every possible protrusion on the way down, before being dropped unceremoniously onto the painfully solid ground. He lay there groaning for a moment, too dizzy and sore to move. Finally, when he decided that he was not going to get any better, he opened his eyes.  
  
The phone lay a few inches from his head. Although he couldn't see the screen, he already knew that it had cut out--otherwise he'd hear Usako screaming. He slowly sat up, gripping his pounding head. He must have hit it at some point. He picked up the phone, looked it over, and finding it not damaged, shoved it into his pocket.  
  
"Well...now what?" he muttered, looking around. He most definitely was NOT in Kansas anymore.  
  
In fact, if he hadn't known any better, he would have placed bets that he had fallen straight into the Dark Kingdom. With that entirely unpleasant thought in mind, he rummaged around in his pocket and picked out one green stone.  
  
"Prince? What's going on?" The stone - Nephrite - sounded confused, dazed, as though he had also fallen through the proverbial rabbit hole.   
  
"I think I may have found something of yours," Mamoru said, looking around anxiously.  
  
They were in an unusually large circular cavern. The walls, floor, and shadowy ceiling were all of a hard, greyish stone. Even parts of the airvent he had just fallen through seemed to be coated in the strange mineral. Around the perimeter of the room, several arched doorways gaped at them. They seemed to lead off in different directions, though most were too dark to see beyond a few feet. The one that bothered him the most, however, was the one just to his left, from which a faint purplish light was glowing.  
  
"This doesn't look like something that belongs in a university," he muttered uncomfortably.  
  
"Oh, hey! I knew this was around here somewhere! And Zoisite said I wasn't useful..."  
  
"So, this is your base." Mamoru realized how stupid it sounded aloud, but he felt he had to comment. Normally, he wasn't used to falling into the headquarters of old enem--frien--whatever. "What exactly went on down here?"  
  
Nephrite cleared his throat; well, in essence, anyway. "Oh, you know. Typical evil villain things. Creating and taking care of youma, spying on the others, working on plans for Beryl. That kind of thing."  
  
"Lovely. There uh... wouldn't be any youma here now, would there?" He shuddered at the thought of some creature flying out of one of the dark doorways, intent on mauling him.   
  
"Naw, they were dependant on Metallia's power. Any youma still here after I left would have died when she was sealed away." After a moment he added, "So you can stop squeezing me so hard now."  
  
Mamoru cleared his throat sheepishly. "Sorry."  
  
"But," he added, "if everything that was here is now dead, am I likely to trip over a bunch of youma corpses?"  
  
Nephrite was silent for a moment, and then finally said, "No. No, I think they would have all disappeared. Just, uh, watch your step."  
  
Mamoru shuddered visibly at the idea. He stepped slowly, methodically toward the one doorway that was dimly lit.  
  
He cautiously peered through it, but found only a long empty corridor that made a sharp turn at the end. The light seemed stronger over there. "Does this seem odd to you?"  
  
"Yes," Nephrite answered slowly, uncertain. "I would have thought there wouldn't be anything left here now. But like I said before, I don't remember a whole lot about what was here. Who knows, it could just be an old computer monitor that never got shut off."  
  
"For two years?"  
  
Nephrite made the mineral equivalant of a shrug. "We were using the latest in Dark Kingdom technology."  
  
"Oh. Windows?"  
  
"Yup."  
  
"What are the odds there's something terrifing and horrible at the end of the corridor?"  
  
"Well, my dirty laundry might still be down here, but short of that..."  
  
"That wasn't disturbing or anything." Mamoru started walking down the hallway, looking over his shoulder every other step. "How could you possibly need all these doors?"  
  
"Well I was kind of in the process of taking over North America, Prince. One doesn't exactly work out of his basement on a project like this."  
  
"Even after Beryl set her sights on Japan?"  
  
"Hey, like I said before, I liked this place. I worked pretty hard to build it, and besides, over the years I had shifted all of the youma who were more loyal to me than they were to Beryl over to this base. You might say it was my 'plan B'. You know, in case Beryl didn't succeed, and all that."  
  
Mamoru considered this a moment. "You rebelled against Beryl, but only for the sake of setting up your own plans of conquering the world? That's almost worse than following her wholeheartedly." Normally, Mamoru would never even consider saying something like this to one of his Shitennou, but he was increasingly becoming aware of Nephrite's laid-back attitude to the whole thing. While he knew very well that Nephrite regretted his time in the Dark Kingdom just as much as his comrades did, he seemed to have a somewhat easier time distancing himself from it, so that he talked about it just as he would discuss a movie he saw.  
  
"Don't forget, my mind was rather warped by Beryl. We all had our forms of rebellion, Prince, even if they weren't always the healthiest. We never recognized it as such--I'm sure we would have stopped as soon as we did. But we all had our subconscious desires to rebel against her, even if we didn't notice. Like how Kunzite always left his jacket unbuttoned, especially in Beryl's presence. Or the fact that Jadeite always carried dirty magazines in his pocket, and read them on missions. And Zoisite... actually, he'd kill me if I told you, and I'd rather not be trampled by a piece of tanzanite."  
  
By the time the idea of Jadeite reading Playboy had fully sunk in, Mamoru had come to the end of the corridor. To the left was a dead end, but to the right...  
  
"Shit." Mamoru did not throw curse word around lightly, but this was definitely an appropriate time for it to come into use.  
  
Before him, glowing bright and purple, was a seven foot tall statue of Beryl that seemed entirely carved out of crystal. Her arms were stretched out, palms facing the ceiling, with two orbs of energy pulsing between them. Her head was tilted back, apparently in mid-cackle. Her hair and dress were in the act of flowing in some requisite evil and ominous wind.  
  
"Yeah, that rather sums it up," Nephrite said darkly.  
  
"Nephrite, what is this thing and what is it for?"  
  
"I'd forgotten all about it," he said thoughtfully. "We used it to store energy. Sort of like a giant battery, you might say. A lot of the energy would then be transferred over to Metallia, but naturally, we cheated and kept a lot for ourselves."  
  
"Is that why it's still glowing?"  
  
The green stone was silent for a moment, apparently in thought. "No," he said finally. "It wasn't meant to hold energy for long periods of time. Even if it were filled to capacity, any energy we had stored in there would have dissipated by now. It shouldn't be doing that."  
  
"'It shouldn't be doing that.' Damn, Nephrite, that's reassuring." Mamoru felt nausea rise up in his stomach, and he decided it would be a terribly poor idea to throw up. Especially since he hadn't eaten in quite some time.  
  
"Those evil Senshi must be using it. But how...Neph, Beryl never had any plans for making evil Senshi clones, did she?"  
  
"Not that I was aware of," he said, with some trepidation. "I don't even think that was within Metallia's power. Taking over existing people is one thing, but making entirely new ones? I suppose, if she could make youma...But after all this time, they're just getting woken up? After you've essentially sealed off the greatest threat in the universe?"  
  
"How'd you find out about THAT?"  
  
"Prince, I sit in your pocket all day collecting lint. Occassionally I really DO hear stuff happening up there, and Chaos wasn't exactly small news. Besides..." his voice grew softer, "we all knew when that happened to you."  
  
Mamoru did not need to ask what "that" was. He looked up at the Beryl statue, feeling a cold twist in his stomach. It was true, they HAD sealed Chaos away, just as they had sealed Metallia away. But amazingly enough, even after facing such powerful enemies as Pharoah 90 and Nehellenia, the Dark Kingdom still had that sort of effect on him. The fear, the darkness, the hopelessness that went with it was too deeply engrained in his mind.  
  
He shivered, and decided he needed more than just Nephrite with him right now. He fumbled around in his pocket for a moment before his hand emerged with the other three stones. "What is it Prince?" Kunzite asked, his voice never failing to instill in Mamoru a sense of calm.  
  
"Nephrite, that thing is still up and running? How could that be?" Zoisite asked, incredulous.  
  
"Hey, this is news to me, too!"  
  
"You know what this means," Jadeite cut in. Everyone was silent.  
  
"I didn't mean I knew! I was hoping someone else was going to step in with an answer!"  
  
Everyone groaned, and Mamoru shook his head. "Jadeite, cut the clowning."  
  
"Sorry, Prince. But if this statue is still holding energy, someone must know it's here."  
  
Nephrite sighed. "And even I couldn't recall where the base was, in exact terms. So some unfamiliar evil madman must know of it, and have a plan for it. Does that scare the piss out of anyone else?"  
  
There was a collective silence as the impact of this statement sank in.  
  
Mamoru deflatedly leaned against the nearest wall, looking much more pale than he had twenty minutes ago.  
  
"Are you alright, Prince?" Kunzite asked, nudging against his palm.  
  
"I'm fine, I just... I'm not feeling well, is all." Somehow, the idea that these Senshi clones were somehow related to the Dark Kingdom made everything seem much, much worse. It was one thing to think of them as random enemies with no real purpose and nothing to back them other than their immediate powers; it was quite another to know that they have ties to one of his most powerful, frightening enemies.  
  
"Well, falling down an airvent tends to do that to a person," Jadeite quipped.   
  
He was sharply bumped into by Zoisite. "Shut up."  
  
"Is there any way to get out of here?" Mamoru seemed to be ignoring the both of them. Nephrite made some contemplative noises. Finally, he said, "You don't happen to have the ability to walk, non-corporeal-like, through walls, do you?"  
  
"Gee, not last time I checked," Mamoru snapped.  
  
"Well then, I'm afraid I can't help you there. This place doesn't really have any doors. You know, so some idiot can't come wandering down here and get himself eaten by youma."  
  
"Well how the hell is that gonna help me? I can't sit around here for the rest of the semester, not if it's inhabited by evil clone women."  
  
"Prince," Kunzite cut in, seeing that he was getting upset, "you do realize that you have powers like a Sailor Senshi. And they seem to be growing stronger lately."  
  
"So?"  
  
"So, who's to say you can't use teleportation? You've used it with the other Sailor Senshi quite a few times."  
  
"As a group, yes. But none of us can do it on our own, Kunzite. And I'm certainly not powerful enough to try it alone."  
  
"I mean," he added dryly, "unless I want to end up unconscious. That's probably not be the best condition to be in while you're in the heart of enemy territory."  
  
"Prince, it's your only shot," Zoisite said. "Either that, or climbing up back up the airvent. Which, as you may recall, was quite a few feet off the ground."  
  
"I don't need reminding."  
  
"At least give it a try," said Jadeite. "The worst that could happen is it won't work."  
  
Mamoru sighed, defeated. "Alright. But no making fun of me if I can't do it. We can't all make convenient little portals, you know."  
  
"We promise," Zoisite said, elbowing--or rather, knocking against--Jadeite.  
  
With some amount of trepidation, Mamoru transformed.  
  
"One problem," he said. "Where am I going? I can't go back to the closet; if anything, they're still there. I have no dorm to go back to, and if I teleport to the frat house, they'll find me and start destroying it again."  
  
"You could always try the men's bathroom?" Jadeite suggested.  
  
Kunzite chuckled. "Look at that. Jadeite said something useful."  
  
"Hey, I have my moments!"  
  
"Fine, but I'd better not end up in a urinal or something."  
  
"Prince, if you stand around debating with us any longer, they're gonna show up here anyway," Zoisite said, slightly amused.  
  
"Alright, alright." He closed his eyes, and gold light began to glow around him, easily outshining the giant Beryl statue. He concentrated all his strength on trying to teleport--not so much to the boy's bathroom, maybe, as anywhere not here.  
  
He closed his eyes, in an attempt to preserve them lest he end up somewher awkward - say, the girls' locker rooms. The floor rumbled, the ceiling shook, and with a valiant cry of, "AIIIIGHH!" Mamoru disappeared without a trace.  
  
In the room's one dark corner, a voice could be heard chuckling. "Ah, Mamoru. You think you've got it figured out, do you? You think it is merely as simple as the Dark Kingdom? You have a long way to go, then, until you find the true answer."  
  
Mamoru was in a tree. A very high, very unclimbable tree. In fact, he could pretty well see nearly the entire campus from his lofty position.  
  
"Maybe next time you should think harder about where you're trying to go," Zoisite said, as delicately as he could.  
  
"Thanks, Zoisite, that's the most helpful tip I've gotten all day," Mamoru snapped, clinging to the nearest stable-looking branch.  
  
Kunzite chuckled softly. "It wasn't bad for a first try, Prince. Zoisite's first time landed him in the refrigerator."  
  
"...and how did that work?"  
  
"I'd rather not talk about it," Zoisite grumbled.   
  
Mamoru settled on to the tree branch, and surveyed his surroundings. There was not an evil Senshi to be seen, fortunately; just students milling about, wondering why a strange man in a tuxedo was perched up there.  
  
"So how exactly am I supposed to be getting down from here?"  
  
"Well, I don't think a fall from this height would kill you. At least, not in your henshined form," Nephrite offered helpfully.  
  
"That's easy for you to say. You're a rock. All you'd do is bounce."  
  
"You seem to be developing all sorts of new powers here," said Jadeite. "You could, uh... try hovering?"  
  
"Hey, while I'm at it, how about I sprout wings and fly back to Japan?"  
  
"Well it certainly wouldn't hurt."  
  
Mamoru was about to snap something in reply, when his phone rang.  
  
"Oh, for..." Mamoru tucked the four stones in one pocket, while pulling out his phone form the other. "Hello?"  
  
"What the hell is wrong with you, Mamoru?"  
  
"Gee, Haruka-san, it's a pleasure to hear from you, too." Mamoru was most definitely not in the mood for a lecture, and he made sure his caller knew it.  
  
Haruka paused for a moment, obviously not expecting the normally mild-tempered prince to be in a bad mood. This hardly seemed to hinder her own temper, however, as she recovered almost immediately. "You'd better have a darn good explanation, Chiba. Usagi's been almost frantic with tears for the past hour, and I'd like to know why."  
  
Mamoru's whole body went numb. "Usa? Is she okay?" He squeaked.  
  
"Not after what you did to her, whatever it was. All I could get out of her is that something's wrong with her Mamochan, and there was someone who sounds like Michiru with him. Is there a girl there with you, Chiba?"  
  
Suddenly there was a sickening crack from the branch he had been holding onto to keep himself steady. "Haruka-san, can I call you back?"  
  
"No!" she shouted. "No, you cannot 'call me back!' I want an explaination for what just happened, Chiba, and if it's not good--"  
  
Whatever Haruka said next was completely drowned out when the branch Mamoru had come to sit upon broke, sending ample amounts of foliage crashing to the ground along with him. He groaned quietly, letting go of the phone as spasms of pain went up and down his back. That was probably not the best place to land on.  
  
"...Mamoru?" Haruka asked, after a moment. "What's going on over there?"  
  
He muttered something choice under his breath, picking the cellphone back up slowly. "Oh, you know. Same ol', same ol'; falling out of trees, that kind of thing."  
  
Not particularly caring whether any students saw him or not, he quickly reverted back to his Azabu t-shirt. At least if he passed out right now, it would make for some much less awkward explanations.  
  
"'Falling out of trees,'" Haruka repeated sarcastically. "You're getting awfully suspicious as of late, Chiba. I'm this close to flying over there and beating your ass."  
  
"Thank you, Haruka-san," he drawled. "That's quite encouraging."  
  
"Answers. Now. Or I buy a plane ticket."  
  
"Well, where should I begin? In no less than 24 hours, I have nearly been frozen to death, had my dorm set aflame and die in my sleep of burns and smoke inhalation, locked in a utility closet, blown out of said closet and down an airvent, and teleported myself into a tree only to fall out of it."   
  
Mamoru paused, and then added, "Does that satisfy you, Tenoh?"  
  
He made sure to emphasis how unamused he was by her threatening behavior - frankly, he was getting enough threats as it was - by emphasizing heavily on her last name. //I don't want to be so rude, but she hardly bothered to give me the benefit of the doubt!//  
  
"...Can I ask what they put in the water over there, Mamoru? Because that was the lamest story I've ever come across."  
  
Mamoru was about ready to break something.  
  
"Now can I have the real story, or are you going to tell me that you've been attacked by leprechauns next?"  
  
"I'm not having this conversation right now, Haruka-san. Goodbye." Mamoru quickly hung up, before he could say something he'd regret.  
  
He remained laying on the ground, waiting for the pain to subside in his back. A few moments passed before a shadow passed over his face. "See? Told you he'd get out of there alive."  
  
"That doesn't look like the picture of 'alive' to me, Zory."  
  
"Whatever I am, I'm not going to stay this way very long," Mamoru muttered, sitting up with some help from Neff. "I just hung up on one of the most powerful of my fiancés short-skirted Senshi. No doubt she's already planning my demise."  
  
Zory raised a delicate eyebrow. "Isn't it a bad thing when a woman's lover and her friends have friction?"  
  
"You're telling me." Mamoru rolled his eyes. "They're so gung-ho about protecting her from anything, it even means protecting her from possibly the one person she loves most. My life is wonderful."   
  
"Can I ask what you're doing laying in a pile of greenery?" Neff asked, pulling a leafy stick out of Mamoru's hair.  
  
"Bad teleportation experience," he muttered, not particularly wanting to relay the embarrassing story.  
  
"Well, the good news is that your psycho female friends haven't killed anyone yet today," Zory said, rescuing him. "The bad is that they've pretty well trashed the Humanities building."  
  
Mamoru groaned. "At the rate they're going, they'll destroy the whole campus before the week is out."  
  
"If they could just destroy my Intro to Volcanic Theory class, I'd be one happy camper." Neff smirked. "Think you could let them loose in the Physical Sciences building?"  
  
"Not funny," Mamoru groused.  
  
"Sorry." Neff continued to pull twigs out of his friend's hair.   
  
"I don't know what depresses me more: the fact that clones of the Senshi are going to kill me, or the REAL Senshi are going to kill me."  
  
"Hey, look on the bright side," Zory chirped. "The real Senshi are on the other side of the world. Theoretically, you've got a good running chance."  
  
"Thanks, that makes me feel a whole lot better."  
  
"Hey, maybe if you put them in a ring together they'll take each other out. Like on Celebrity Death Match."  
  
Zory slapped his forehead. "Neff, I can't believe you just used a claymation MTV show as an analogy to real life."  
  
"Don't tell me you didn't enjoy Cher versus Sarah Michelle Gellar."  
  
"I'm ignoring you."  
  
Mamoru smiled weakly. "You two never cease to--"  
  
"Deep Submerge!"  
  
The ball of water slammed harshly into Mamoru's back, ripping him forcefully away from his two companions. He fell hard on the ground, hearing his face crunch as it hit the pavement.  
  
"Mamoru!" Zory ran to his side, while Neff turned angrily around to face the attackers.  
  
Mackenzie smirked at him. "What do you think you're going to do, son? Throw those twigs at me?"  
  
Neff growled viciously before running forward and planting a fist in Mackenzie's jaw. Her head snapped sharply backwards, but when she tilted it forward again, she was grinning dangerously. "My turn." She punched him square in the chest, her senshi strength sending him flying into the treetrunk behind him, where he slid to the ground, groaning.  
  
Mamoru clutched the side of his face, feeling like it had been ripped off with a cheesegrater. Zory was trying to pull him off the ground, but he was having a hard time staying upright, and the smaller man was unable to support his full weight. Just as he was slipping from Zory's grip, he felt a pair of strong arms wrap around him and pull him to his feet. "Zory, what's going on?" Malachi asked urgently, holding a dazed Mamoru.  
  
"What's it look like? Psycho clone's trying to kill him, that's what's going on."  
  
With an infinitely weary sigh, Mamoru transformed back into Tuxedo Kamen. "Might as well live in this thing," he muttered, before pulling away from Malachi's grip. Taking out his cane, Mamoru lunged and swung it like a baseball bat. He clocked Mackenzie squarely on the ear and, her center of balance thrown, she tumbled to the ground like a sack of potatoes.   
  
"Mamoru, watch out!"  
  
He turned around to face Malachi's voice. "What?"  
  
"Venus Love-me Chain!"  
  
Before he could blink, a very hot chain of hearts had wrapped tightly around his throat. Miniya smirked, and tugged sharply on it in multiple directions. Mamoru was jerked harshly back and forth, until his captor cracked the chain like a whip. For the second time, Mamoru's face was intimate with the pavement, and this time, it was nose first.  
  
He struggled on the ground, the chain strangling him and the blood gushing from his nose choking what breath he had left. His feet kicked desperately, trying to get beneath him, but Miniya only pulled tighter, keeping him from finding a foothold.   
  
Malachi and Jed rushed over and tried to pry the chain off his neck. "Oh no you don't," Miniya chided, and energy charged from her hands down the gold metal, where it zapped everyone touching it. Malachi and Jed leapt back. Mamoru would have screamed if he could.   
  
Instead, he settled for gritting his teeth and attempting to power up. As he began to glow, Miniya's smirk only got wider - this last-ditch effort would do him no good. To prove her point, she pulled on the chain roughly, dragging Mamoru's face further along the blood-smeared concrete. This didn't stop Mamoru, and finally he elbowed himself up to face the blonde. His nose began to repair itself, and he grinned.   
  
"I think it's only fair that we level the playing field, don't you?" He swung his neck around sharply, in a manner that normally would have caused him no end of whiplash. Miniya squacked as the chain was wrenched out of her grip, and she was flung unceremoniously in a nearby bush.  
  
Malachi raised an eyebrow as the black-haired prince easily broke the chain off his neck. "That's a pretty nice trick."  
  
Mamoru held off answering when he heard Zory's muffled scream. He whipped around to face Mackenzie, who had her arm around his neck. Zory hung limply from her arm, already looking like he would soon pass out from lack of oxygen. "Whaddya know, Prince," she laughed, "looks like you've found yourself some friends. What would you do if I broke his neck right now?" She tightened her hold, and he began to make choking sounds.  
  
Mamoru let out a feral snarl. "I'd vaporize you."  
  
Mackenzie snorted harshly. "I'll run that risk."   
  
Her arm tightened around Zory's small neck, almost to the point of closing off his windpipe all together. Gasping like a fish out of water, he desperately tried to breathe, but to no avail. His face purpled from lack of oxygen.  
  
"Come on, Prince. He's running out of time. But if you attack me, I might use him as a human shield." She smirked, using her free hand to brush an errant strand of teal hair from her face. "Your call."  
  
Mamoru did not even hesitate. "Tuxedo Mirage!" The stream of gold light slammed into Mackenzie before she could consider pushing Zory into its path. The blonde man dropped to the ground, gasping for breath, as Mackenzie stumbled back. Jed and Neff rushed to help him, but Malachi stayed by Mamoru.  
  
Mackenzie stood shakily, clutching the shoulder that had taken the greatest impact. "Not... too bad, Prince. Let's try this one, shall we? Submarine Violon Tide!"  
  
"Get behind me!" Mamoru grabbed Malachi's arm and pulled him behind his back, just as the tsunami came crashing down upon them. At first they were lost beneath the wall of water that crashed wildly around them, but as Mamoru thrust out a glowing hand, the waters parted at his fingertips, rushing past them on either side. Malachi huddled close behind him, wrapping an arm around his waist to keep from being swept away.  
  
Mackenzie growled. He was not supposed to do that!   
  
"Space Turbulence!"  
  
Mamoru held his arms out, grunting as the explosion of energy and bright light plowed into him. His feet skidded backwards, and Malachi gulped nervously. But they held their ground, and eventually the force stopped.  
  
As the attack faded away, the light surrounding Mamoru began to dwindle and his knees gave out. Before he could fall, Malachi grabbed him and held him up. "Don't you dare give up yet!" He growled in his ear.  
  
"Aww, aren't you two so cute together!" Hasana shouted cheerfully, running up beside Mackenzie and pinching her rear end.  
  
"Save it for later," Mackenzie snapped, giving the smaller blonde a half-hearted shove. Seeing his window of opportunity, Mamoru was thankful he had someone to keep him from falling over.  
  
"Tuxedo Mirage!"   
  
The force of the blast nearly shook Malachi from his protective hold on his companion, but he quickly steadied himself. //It's like feedback from a gun,// he thought idly. //Except guns don't shoot golden beams in the real world.//  
  
//...usually,// he ammended.  
  
"Mackenzie!" Hasana squealed as her lover was enveloped in gold light.   
  
"Ha... Hasana!" She whispered, then was gone.  
  
Hasana's scream was ear-shattering. "You'll pay!" She sobbed. "You will! I promise!" And, with bitter tears pouring down her face, the blonde vanished.  
  
His strength spent, Mamoru slumped in the white-haired man's arms. "Thanks," he muttered, knowing he could not have gotten through that on his own.  
  
Just then he heard a deep, feminine chuckle. Miniya stood several meters away, her freakish sailor fuku mildly torn from her close encounter with the bushes.   
  
"Can't say I mind seeing that bitch get vaporized," she mused. "So I'll leave you be for now, Prince. But I'll leave you boys with a little present. Venus Power! Love Crescent Shower!"  
  
She too vanished, just as heavy drops of rain began to descend on the group.  
  
Of course, this was not normal rain. This was very hot, very painful rain of pure light energy. The five men screamed as it poured down, searing any exposed skin it came in contact with.   
  
"Get under the trees!" Malachi shouted, gritting his teeth together as he helped Mamoru under the nearby cover. It didn't help much; the trees were being singed beyond recognition, and it only served as minimal cover.  
  
Finally, after a few more agonizing moments, the "rain" dissipated.  
  
"Ow," Jed whined. "That stuff hurts! And it stinks, too!" Indeed, even as he was speaking a heavy sulfuric fog had begun to rise from the wet, deadened grass, and drifted around the men.  
  
Mamoru weakly leaned on Malachi's shoulder, trying his best to stand on his own and not doing a great job of it. "We should get out of here before other people start showing up," Malachi said, tightening his grip around Mamoru.  
  
As he spoke, Neff slowly turned to face them. Right away, Malachi noticed the strange dark look in his eyes, but he thought little of it. Mamoru, however, was beginning to sense that something was not right. "This is all his fault," Neff said, glancing accusingly at Mamoru.  
  
Malachi stared at him. He would not have expected something like this from Neff, not after all they'd talked about last night. "What are you talking about?"  
  
"None of this would have happened if it weren't for him," he growled.  
  
"Man, I didn't ask you to stick around and get beaten up," Mamoru snapped, his last nerve being worn. "You and Zory could have run. They obviously don't want a couple of useless humans."  
  
"Hey, who are you calling useless?" Jed said, getting to his feet.  
  
Mamoru rolled his eyes. "So when was the last time you turned a person into air molecules?"  
  
"Oh, so that's what defines usefulness around here?" Neff shouted, and promptly punched the black-haired prince in the stomach. Mamoru dropped to his knees, gasping for breath. "I'd say that was pretty damn useful."  
  
Malachi shoved Neff away from him. "The hell is your problem, Neff?"  
  
"There you go again, protecting your little buddy," Jed snapped. "If you're so fond of him, why don't you two move in together?"  
  
"Well, unlike you, Malachi seems to have a certain amount of compassion for people," Zory interjected. "Can't we cut the man a little slack? He did save me from suffocating."  
  
"But if he hadn't bothered us at all, you wouldn't have been in that headlock," Neff growled. "Period."  
  
"Well then," Zory snapped, "if you think it's such a problem, go get in your fucking time machine and fix it!"  
  
"Maybe if he hadn't bothered we'd be rid of your ignorance," Neff snarled, standing imposingly over Zory.  
  
"Well maybe it should've been you in there. Then you wouldn't have to deal with idiots like us anymore, would you?"  
  
The dull crack that followed rang through the foggy air, and everyone watched in stunned silence as Zory dropped to the ground, his right eye and cheek already swelling up. Neff stared at his own fist as if it were an alien thing that had acted on its own.  
  
Suddenly something hit him like a freight train, and he tumbled onto the ground, Malachi on top of him. "Don't you ever do that again," he growled, his tone dangerously cold.   
  
"Malachi--"  
  
Before his response even left his mouth, Malachi grabbed the brunette's shoulders and slammed him roughly on the pavement. "Do you understand me? Don't you ever DARE hit Zory in my presence again!"  
  
Mamoru was afraid to move. His heart screamed at him to go and help Zory up, but his mind replied, "Are you freaking kamikaze, Mamoru? Jed will take a swing at you!"  
  
It didn't help that, for the second time, he thought he was going to throw up. It really was his fault. It was his fault they were getting injured, getting angry and throwing punches. If he had just left them alone...  
  
"Get off of him, Malachi," Jed snapped. "Zory deserved what he got and you know it!"  
  
Dammit, he could vaporize enemies in seconds, he could heal gaping wounds, so why couldn't he fix this?  
  
"Want me to hit you too, Jed?"  
  
Why was he weak at the times when he was most needed?   
  
"You can bloody well be my guest."  
  
This wasn't right, they shouldn't be doing this, they were supposed to be friends, why were they fighting?   
  
"Please, stop..." Mamoru whispered, suddenly feeling tears well up in his eyes.  
  
Malachi had already gotten to his feet, a punch ready. But the sound of Mamoru's voice made him stop cold. That same, unexplainable feeling in him stirred; the one he always got when this strange, tuxedo-wearing man was emotionally distressed.   
  
Jed, however, didn't seem to notice. Taking his opening, he swung and decked Malachi right across the jaw. Malachi's ears rung like overzealous churchbells and he stumbled, stars of pain exploding in front of his eyes.  
  
"I SAID STOP IT."  
  
Even as he shouted, he felt it. The Golden Crystal. It bloomed in front of his chest, its golden crystalline petals sending out their healing light. The oppressive sulfuric fog vanished, too frail to stand up against the warm glow that washed over everything, healing the injured trees and restoring the dead grass. Mamoru knelt on the ground, tears of gold sliding down his cheeks, his eyes filled with compassion for his friends.   
  
And then, a funny thing happened. The four men began to glow golden, as well. Zory's eye and Malachi's jaw healed almost instantly, and they all looked around in utter confusion at the sheer brightness of everything.  
  
From one of Mamoru's pockets, a small weight lifted. Four semiprecious stones disappeared from there, and then reappeared in front of the chest of each befuddled man.  
  
"Don't fight," he said, looking up at them with the tears pouring down his face. The sound echoed all over the place, and even though it had only been a whisper, he could not have yelled it louder. "You're long past fighting like this. Please, I...I don't know how else I can ask you..."  
  
Four ghostly beings materialized with the stones, which no longer glowed from their foreheads, but were instead held out in offering from each man's hand.  
  
"I don't know if you could... if you could ever accept this," The Prince of Earth continued, "It's not an easy gift to bear..."  
  
Malachi stared at the man in front of him. The man who bore the weight of centuries in his deep green eyes. Centuries of guilt and of pain, of weary suffering. But when he glanced at Mamoru, he knew he already had his answer. He looked at his friends. They, too, had made their decision.  
  
Together, they each reached out and accepted their stones.  
  
It was probably impossible for the lights around them to be any brighter, but as soon as the stones met their hands, it was almost as though a supernova had exploded. Nothing could be seen except a brilliant, shimmering whiteness.  
  
They were not prepared for all the memories to come at once. The stones has been the key to unlock the part of themselves, their pasts, that they had never been able to find before. It came to them like a freight train. Hundreds upon thousands of years - the Golden Kingdom, D-Point, the Dark Kingdom, Tokyo - had all involved them. It was an intense mixture of euphoria and depression all at the same time, memories of different eras all mixing willy-nilly with no concept of chronology.  
  
One after another, images flashed through their minds until they thought they might explode from the sheer volume of it all. But just as it felt as though it would consume them, the memories slowed to a trickle, then faded altogether, leaving only blissful stillness, and the feeling that a broken puzzle had just been completed.  
  
When the glorious light finally faded, there were no longer four college students standing there, but four warriors, clad in dazzling white uniforms, their armour glistening in the sun, their dark brown capes flourishing in the wind.  
  
Mamoru watched them appear, feeling that a piece of his life that had been missing for so long was finally back in place. As the Golden Crystal folded back into his chest, he gave them a deep, grateful smile. "Thank you," he whispered, and then fainted.  
  
-----  
  
...so we got a little carried away. *coughs* Yes.  
  
Cliffhangers! Yes, we know you hate us. Yes, we know we're evil.   
  
Will Chapter 4 be this long? Be careful what you wish for. It'll probably be longer. 


	4. Chapter 4

Bleed (Just to Know You're Alive)  
  
Chapter 4  
  
//anything between slashes are thoughts//  
  
------  
  
"Prince!" everyone shouted at once, Malachi catching him before he could faceplant.  
  
He reached one hand up to check for a pulse. "He'll be okay, guys. He's just fainted."  
  
The other three men sighed in relief.  
  
"Does anyone else have a killer headache?" Neff said, massaging his temple. He had learned so much in the span of less than fifteen seconds; he had found out about two entire lifetimes he'd known nothing about.   
  
The others grunted in agreement. The experience had both been pleasant and terribly UNpleasant.  
  
"Well, look on the bright side, guys," Jed chirped. He flapped his brown cape dramatically. "We've got snazzy uniforms!"  
  
"You'll be a hit at the Halloween cabaret," Neff noted sarcastically.  
  
"You laugh now, but wait 'till I win first prize."  
  
"I hate to cut into your fun and all, guys, but I think we'd better get out of here." Zory cast a nervous look around. It would only be a matter of time before other students dared to venture nearby. "Or at the very least, we need to revert back to our normal forms."  
  
"I opt for doing that anyway," said Neff. "As cool as it is to have shiny armour and all, it wouldn't be a good idea to walk around looking like this."  
  
Jed chuckled. "You just don't have a sense of adventure."  
  
"This from the man who has streaked through the frathouse wearing nothing but a party hat," Zory commented, as his armour faded into jeans and a Stanford t-shirt.  
  
Jed said nothing in response; he merely blushed, as his armour, too, reverted into casual clothes.  
  
Malachi carefully scooped Mamoru up in his arms and stood, allowing his uniform to vanish. Despite being nearly as tall as Malachi, the Japanese man was surprisingly light. "Shall we go, then?"  
  
As they made their way back to the frathouse, Malachi could not help but smile to himself when he noticed how the other three remained close to him, keeping a protective eye on the burden he carried. Not five minutes as Shitennou, and already they were acting like guardians again.  
  
But then, he was noticing a change in himself too, wasn't he? Though he and Kunzite were very much the same person, the two years they had spent apart had created slight differences in their personalities. Kunzite, for example, after spending five minutes in Malachi's head, came to the conclusion that his human counterpart had horrid taste in music.   
  
He would have to dedicate some time later to explaining to this multiple hundreds-of-years-old being that there was nothing wrong with Great Big Sea or Young Dubliners; he was obviously going to have plenty of time to do so.  
  
As Zory opened the door to their frathouse, he was greeted by three hungover men lying in his path. Thinking it futile, he halfheartedly nudged them with his foot in order to clear the way.  
  
Apparently not knowin his own strength, all of the men rolled harmlessly out of his way, groaning as they did so.  
  
"..." Zory looked down at his foot; it didn't seem all that different. "Mamoru failed to mention that all these memories came with bionic limbs."  
  
"We'll have to look into what kinds of powers we have now. You know, so someone doesn't accidently fry himself while making coffee or something." At this Jed looked at Neff.  
  
"Hey, I only did that once."  
  
They had almost made it safely to Malachi's room when the four men nearly ran over a squirrely little liberal arts student. "Oh, uh... hi Malachi," he said hesitantly, throwing a questioning glance at the unconscious Japanese man in his arms.  
  
"Hello Billy," Malachi answered cooly, pointedly pretending said Japanese man did not exist.  
  
The boy shifted uncomfortably, obviously itching to ask about the obvious, but having no idea how to do so. "So, uh... how's it going?"  
  
"Oh, you know. Same old, same old." Malachi shifted Mamoru's weight in his arms unconsciously. "Studying, partying. Yourself?"  
  
"I have a Linguistics exam later today, and...uh..." Billy adjusted his Coke bottle glasses nervously. "Who's that?"  
  
"Who?"  
  
Billy coughed. "The, um, man in your arms."  
  
"Oh, him?" Malachi shrugged. "A friend."  
  
"He doesn't look like he's from this house..."  
  
"Mamoru's not much of a frat guy," Jed explained. "You know. He's one of those types who actually studies, and that kind of nonsense."  
  
There was a stretched out silence, where no one seemed willing to comment on the fact that Malachi was carrying a man around in a most compromising way. Billy couldn't stand it any longer. He had to know. "So what's he doing hooked up with Malachi, then?"  
  
"'Hooked up?'" Malachi raised an eyebrow, wondering where the weasely pledge was going with that train of thought.   
  
"Is that why you never go out with the sorority girls, Malachi?" Neff asked under his breath.  
  
He did not say it quietly enough, however, because both Zory and Jed broke into hysterical laughter. Malachi shot them a vicious glare, but the look only made them laugh harder.  
  
Mamoru stirred in his sleep, and the white-haired man automatically shifted his weight, protectively drawing him closer. He narrowed his eyes at the little twit in front of him, then smirked. "So what if he is?"  
  
Billy cowered beneath Malachi's chilling, steady gaze, seeming to notice for the first time how intimidating the tall man was. "Uh, well, no reason."  
  
"Good. Don't you have an exam to be studying for, Billy?"  
  
"Um, yes. Good to see you then, er, yes." Before Malachi could reciprocate the sentiment - not that he probably would have - the squirrely boy disappeared down the hall and around the corner.  
  
"He should take a picture," he muttered, as soon as he heard the sound of a door slam. "It'll last longer."  
  
"Man, what's Mamoru's fiancé gonna say when she finds you you've got the hots for OW!" Jed rubbed the back of his head. "Zory, you don't have to hit me that hard."  
  
"I blame you for this one, Neff," Malachi snarled, not the least bit amused.  
  
Neff smiled innocently. "Don't be so upset, Malachi. Look on the bright side--by the time the rest of the frat house hears about this, you might actually get a date."  
  
"You're lucky my hands aren't free. Otherwise I'd pound your head through the wall." Seething, he turned and headed towards his bedroom.  
  
"...he doesn't really mean that, does he?" Jed whispered, leaning in close to Zory.  
  
"If he's referring to you? Yes."  
  
Jed made a deflated noise that sounded something like a sigh. "Why does everyone always pick on ME?"  
  
Neff chuckled. "Do you want the short or the long answer?"  
  
"Nngh?" Mamoru stirred slightly as Malachi got him comfortable on the bed. "Ma--"  
  
"Shh." Malachi cut him off, propping his head up with all the pillows he could find. "Just relax. You've been running on fumes for almost a day now. You need to take it easy."  
  
"Bu--"  
  
"Do I have to make that an order, Prince?" The smirk on Malachi's face was unmistakable.  
  
"I--" Mamoru tried to sit up, but he felt as though a great weight was on him, pinning him down.  
  
"Shh." Malachi gently laid a hand on his forehead, and after a moment Mamoru visibly relaxed, a sudden sense of calm washing over him. "You need to sleep, Prince. Don't worry about anything. Just rest." Mamoru blinked, trying to keep his eyes open, but his eyelids felt so heavy. He soon gave in, allowing them to close, and before long he had fallen into a deep sleep.   
  
Malachi remained there a moment longer, watching his Prince's face. // He looks so tired,// he thought. //As though he hasn't slept in ages.//  
  
"How is he?" Jed asked, leaning against the doorframe.  
  
Malachi glanced up at him, then moved to retrieve the blanket that was folded on the couch. "He's dead exhausted."  
  
"I suppose pulling out the Golden Crystal and reviving dead guardians is not recommended by the Surgeon General for people who have just dusted clone Senshi."  
  
"Not usually." Malachi carefully draped the blanket over the sleeping man. He looked solemnly at him for a moment, to make sure he was not going to start flailing in pain, and then turned around.  
  
"Not to mention that I feel like someone dropped an anvil on my head." He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "And it's sitting there, talking to me."  
  
"Talking anvils, huh?" Jed smiled. "I know the feeling. Thousands of years of memories take up quite a lot of space up here." For emphasis, he tapped his temple with one finger.  
  
"Normally, I'd make some crack about how there wasn't much up there to begin with, but I'm too tired."  
  
He sank into the chair by his desk, massaging his forehead.  
  
"I'll second that," Neff amended, brushing past Jed and flopping onto the couch. Zory followed him in, and the two halfheartedly bickered about who got how much space, before they somehow settled into a position that was moderately comfortable. All the seats having been taken, Jed sat on the floor, his back against the closed door.  
  
"It's like suddenly having an entire library at your disposal," Zory sighed, "and the only way to figure everything out is to pick out books at random and read through them one by one. I can't even make sense of half the stuff in my head right now."  
  
"Fortunately, normal libraries don't talk," Neff said, resting his chin in his hand, strands of hair flopping in front of his eyes. "Especially in my head."  
  
"It's just like they said to us last night." Jed hit his head against the wood door, partially out of frustration. "Every last thing. But it's all the little details, too. The sights, the sounds, God even the smells! Everything we'd forgotten."  
  
"Not 'forgotten,'" Zory corrected. "'Never been told.' These bodies weren't theirs; they were created without ever knowing what came before them."  
  
"Were they? I haven't gotten that far yet. I'm still a few centuries back." Jed winced. "And I think I just recalled hitting puberty."  
  
Neff snickered. "You hit puberty?" Being that he was out of arm's reach, Jed found a pencil and threw it at him.  
  
"I think so," Zory continued thoughtfully. "I don't know, I still can't remember anything from my--I mean, Zory's--perspective. I can only work it out from what Zoisite knows."  
  
He paused. "I just referred to myself in third person. Damn, this IS weird."  
  
There was silence for a few moments, as everyone tried to catch up to the same place in their memories. But some had been in places that others weren't, and they soon realized it would be impossible to get to exactly the same spot within the span of a few minutes.  
  
Malachi was the first to break the reverie. Something he saw - rather, remembered - made him pull back and shudder.  
  
"Malachi?" Neff raised an eyebrow in concern, putting his hand on his friend's shoulder. "What is it?"  
  
Malachi shook his head, not meeting his friend's gaze. "I--It was nothing." It was an outright lie and they all knew it, but if Malachi did not want to talk about it, they would not force him. They had enough to worry about.  
  
Malachi sat back, gripping the arms of the chair. He was beginning to understand why Kunzite carried around so much more emotional baggage than the other three, and it did not only have to do with the Prince. Being the highest of Beryl's servants--no, not servants--slaves had come with certain tasks that had nothing to do with finding a sparkly chunk of crystal.   
  
He had assumed that no one else knew about the ... favors he'd given Beryl, but he was wrong. Zory saw the look of disgust and self-loathing on his face, and recalled the time that Mala--Kunzite had come stumbling out of the throne room, beaten and exhausted and sore. He knew what had happened on those occasions, but he'd cut his own tongue out before letting his friend know how much he really remembered.  
  
"No wonder our former selves sound so depressed," Jed said, placing his hands face-up on his knees and staring at his palms like they were fascinating. "God, what WERE we?"  
  
"Monsters." Nephrite sounded like he wanted to vomit, or roll over and die. "That's...that's all there is to it. We were monsters. Puppets. Puppet monsters. Like Muppets, only disgusting and vile and from an alternate universe."  
  
"If we're going to be Muppets, I'm not Miss Piggy," Zory said, smiling weakly. "The first person to suggest a resemblence to that violent prima donna swine gets a mobile phone up their--"  
  
"Hey, I wouldn't suggest it. You're very much more like the Swedish Chef."  
  
"...and how did you figure that out?"  
  
"Simple. When was the last time you cooked something edible?"  
  
At any other time, Malachi would have found the concept of being compared to a Muppet quite amusing, but at the moment he could not even work up the effort to smile. He was far too preoccupied with his newfound memories, and the horrible queasiness they brought to his stomach. The thought of even touching that thing was nauseating in and of itself. But to think of the the depths to which he had sank to please his "queen"...  
  
Suddenly it was no longer a question of feeling nauseous. He knew he was going to be sick. His three friends watched dumbfounded as he abruptly leapt from his chair and charged into the little half-bathroom attached to his room, slamming the door behind him. After a few seconds it became apparent why he had been in such a rush.  
  
"What's got him so upset?" Jed asked softly, his voice filled with worry. The other two knew that he had darn good reason to worry, too. Because Malachi simply did not get upset. Not about anything. He was the most stable person they knew, and if he was crumbling at a time like this, then they were most definitely in trouble.  
  
"Mamoru was probably right to be wary about sharing all of...all of this," Zory said, waving with his hand to indicate around him. "It's just too much. Even I don't know what to do with myself, and I probably don't know half the stuff Malachi does."  
  
"And if he's throwing up over it, what's in store for the rest of us?" Neff palmed his face with his free hand. "Quite the mess we've gotten ourselves into."  
  
"If only we could've taken it in doses." Jed ran his hand through his hair. "It's like downing a whole bottle of rum in one shot."  
  
"Which you know from experience."  
  
"Excuse me, but I'm not the one who drank ten shots in the span of an hour last night."  
  
"It's just that there's so much of it," Zory continued incredulously. "You can't even begin to come to terms with one memory before five others show up. If I could just find a pause button, it would make things a whole lot easier."  
  
"I'm sorry..."  
  
The three remaining men jumped a foot in the air when Mamoru's voice was heard. At first, they all assumed they had woken him up, but the prince rolled over, muttering in his sleep. "I'm sorry, I didn't know..."  
  
"He even guilts himself in his sleep." Neff snorted. "He's amazing, isn't he?"  
  
The two blondes made noises of agreement.   
  
"He's always cared more about us, about the Princess, than he does for himself." Zory covered his face with both of his hands, massaging the sore eyes delicately with his figners. "The other memories I could take, but...there's that one..."  
  
Neff and Jed nodded, looking down at their shoes or up at the ceiling. They knew which one the small man had been referring to.   
  
//I had him pinned to the ground, and he spat in my face.// Jed stared up at the hastily plastered ceiling like it was fascinating. //I've never, ever seen him so mad at me before. Not that I could hardly blame him.//  
  
Neff shivered, remembering that day all too well. //I nearly decapitated him, but he was too quick for me. He always was better with a sword.//  
  
Zory drew his knees up onto the couch, hugging himself. //He tried so hard to make us see the truth. God, if only we'd listened.//  
  
The silence drew out for a long time as each man was faced with his own personal hell: the betrayal of their Prince. Only the soft sound of Mamoru's rhythmic breathing could be heard above the drumming conflict in their minds. That small sign of his presence was a comfort in light of what they remembered, reminding them that the past, as horrible as it may have been, was far behind them now. Even in his sleep, he seemed to act only for the sake of his friends.  
  
"We can really help him now." Neff was the one to break the quiet. "We can help him fight these evil Senshi. We know so much more now..."  
  
"As stones and bodies seperately, we were essentially useless," Zory agreed. "But now we've got our memories. We've got real, corporeal bodies."  
  
"And we've got thousands of years worth of fucking up to make up for." Jed smirked. "Think we can do it, guys?"  
  
"You I'm not so sure about." Neff ducked as Jed grabbed one of Malachi's misplaced shoes and threw it at his head. It hit the wall with a dull clunk.  
  
"C'mon, Jed, you know I'm kidding."   
  
"Yeah. I know."  
  
"We really can do this." Neff nudged Zory's arm with his own. "You, too, skinny."  
  
Zory smirked up at him. "Hey big guy, I could take you on."  
  
"What'll you do, strangle me with your ponytail?"  
  
"You're one to talk. Think you can see the battle through all that hair?"  
  
Neff snorted haughtily and pushed a stray auburn lock behind his ear, unable to hide the small smile on his face. Their friendly teasing seemed to restore some level of normalcy to the room.  
  
"We should check on Malachi," Zory said, looking anxiously at the bathroom door. They hadn't heard a sound out of him in several minutes.  
  
They found him on the floor, his back against one wall, his side leaning on another. He looked ridiculously big in the cramped area, even though his knees were bent to accommodate his height. He did not stir when they opened the door, but went on gazing past them into nothingness.   
  
"Malachi!" Zory shoved past the others, dropping to his knees so he could get a grip on the older man. He gave his friend's shoulders a light shake, but when that was unsuccessful, he shook the white haired man harder. "Malachi! Dammit, say something!"  
  
Still the man gave no response. The blonde checked for a pulse - he sighed in moderate relief when he found one. Malachi was still breathing, as well, and though those were small victories, Zory would take whatever he could.  
  
He stood up to get out of the way. "Neff, get him out of that puddle of vomit and on the couch. If he doesn't come to, I'm calling 911."  
  
Neff carefully gathered the white-haired man into his arms and lifted him off the cold tile. Zory found a washcloth and ran cold water over it, trying to bite back the panic rising in his throat. //Dammit, we should never have left him alone. Not at a time like this.// He hurried out of the bathroom and sat on the edge of the couch, next to Malachi's unmoving form. The other two men watched nervously as he gently wiped the sweat and vomit from Malachi's face, before moving on to his neck and collar bone.  
  
"Stay with me Malachi," he muttered, trying to keep his voice steady. "Stay with me."  
  
After a few agonizing moments, Malachi groaned and began to stir.  
  
"Malachi, what happened?" Zory put his hand behind Malachi's head in an attempt to prop him up. "Were you trying to throw up to death?"  
  
The white haired man blinked a few times; each time his eyes opened, they flickered back from green to grey. A cold clench settled in Zory's stomach; Kunzite's memory was too much for his body, and it was waging a confused war on itself.  
  
"Shit," he hissed. Louder, shrilly, he said, "Malachi, say something! What's going on?!"  
  
Malachi's eyes--a dull, metallic silver--followed the sound of Zory's voice and stared at him blankly, not recognizing him. The blonde gasped when he saw the look in his friend's eyes that could only be described as haunted. It was such a look of intense despair and emptiness that he had to resist the urge to turn away in horror.  
  
"Oh God, Malachi..."  
  
And then, like clouds giving way to sunshine, the deep imperial green that Zory had come to know so well began to seep back into his irises, until only the outer edges kept their colorless tint. Like a steel-tipped rose.  
  
"Zory?" he muttered.  
  
The blonde nodded, almost imperceptible. "I-I'm here, Malachi. Right here. You've got to stay awake."  
  
"Can't..." Malachi's mouth sounded - and felt - like it was full of marbles. "I can't, I..."  
  
Zory inclined his head toward the bed, and Neff took one no the pillows Mamoru was not currently snoring on. While the blonde held Malachi's head up slightly, he put the pillow underneath it.  
  
Malachi winced as he was laid back against the pillow, and Zory realized how much his head must hurt. He folded the cloth up and laid it across the man's forehead, hoping it would ease the pain a bit. Malachi sighed, seeming to relax a little, but Zory could still see the newly formed lines in his face, the way that his eyebrows were anxiously drawn together. He seemed to have aged ten years in the span of a half hour.  
  
"Zory...the things I did for her..." Malachi shuddered violently. Jed and Neff exchanged a look of confusion undetectable by the room's other occupants; Zory bit his lip, sympathy washing all around him.  
  
"I know. I know." He held one of Malachi's hands - it was as cold as ice - in his own. "But they've passed now, Malachi. We're serving the Prince again. Beryl's long dead. It's all behind you."  
  
"I sold my soul to her, Zory... she said no matter how many times I came back... that I'd always be hers..."  
  
"That's a lie," Jed said gently. "She can't control you anymore. The Prince is the only one you serve."  
  
"I have no right to be serving the Prince. How could he ever begin to trust me again? And why should he?"  
  
"Because he loved you enough to nearly kill himself bringing you back," Neff replied shortly.  
  
"And because he already has trusted you, Malachi," continued Zory. "He was practically putting his life in your hands when you two were almost strangers. And you know as well as I do that the Prince doesn't put his trust in just anybody."  
  
"You don't think it destroys him to think about what these memories do to you? To all of us?" Zory knelt down, almost nose to nose with the white haired man. "You're strong enough to deal with this, Malachi. I know you. I've known you for lifetimes. You're stronger than all the rest of us. You can move past this."  
  
Not quite hidden in the shadow the blonde cast over his face, a single tear fell down Malachi's cheek. "I...I can't..."  
  
"What kind of bullshit talk is that?" Neff folded his arms across his chest. "She did terrible things to you, Malachi, and I won't deny it. But I know you're courageous enough to forgive yourself and move on."   
  
"You might not be able to do it for yourself, but you can sure as heck do it for him." Jed pointed at the man sleeping on the bed, the person who they had crossed lifetimes to protect. "He needs you, Malachi. Don't you see how much he's depending on us right now? How can you possibly hope to protect him in such a state?"  
  
Malachi turned away, seeming to find the pattern on the couch profoundly interesting. "I... you're right. This isn't the time for me to be wallowing in self-pity."  
  
Zory placed a soft, friendly kiss on Malachi's cheek. "I believe in you, Malachi. We'll protect him together - all of us - like we always do. In the end, that's what matters."  
  
Malachi tried not to blush. "R-right."  
  
Jed and Neff snickered quietly under their breaths, trying desperately to cover it up with coughs.  
  
They were, of course, not the least bit successful, and only stopped after Malachi had sat up and thrown his pillow at them. "Think that's funny, do you?"  
  
"First Mamoru and now Zory. Getting around, aren't you Mala--HEY!" Jed yelped as Zory kicked him in the shin.  
  
Neff sat down next to Malachi and slung an arm around his shoulders. "Are you sure you're alright, Malachi?"  
  
Malachi gave him a halfhearted smile. "Not really. I think it'll be a long time before I can really get past this. But I'm not gonna let it dominate my life."  
  
"Man, I know I give you a lot of crap, but you know you can always talk to me, right?"   
  
For only the second time Malachi could recall - the first being the other night, when the whole story was explained to him - Neff's face was entirely serious. One thing could be said about him: when it came right down to it, he was as hardworking and loyal as the three other guardians, no matter what attitude he gave off during the rest of his waking hours.  
  
"I know. Thanks, Neff."  
  
"We mean it, Malachi." Jed said, suddenly serious himself. "Don't go locking yourself in the bathroom whenever you feel like this. Talking to us would definitely preferable to passing out next to the toilet."  
  
"Yeah, save that for drinking binges." Neff smirked.  
  
"Hey, you're the only ones who go on drinking binges. I stop after two beers."  
  
"Not everyone has a stomach cavity lined with lead," Zory said, flipping his ponytail over his   
  
shoulder.  
  
"I'd watch it if I were you, lightweight. You get rosy after one shot!"  
  
"It's not my fault I'm genetically incapable of getting smashed and acting like a gorilla."  
  
"You're just jealous because you can't drink like a man."  
  
Zory rolled his eyes. "Excuse me while I swoon over your awe-inspiring masculinity."  
  
"Hey, at least I didn't get mistaken for a waitress last time we went to the bar."  
  
"No, you just accidently started hitting on someone named Fred."   
  
At this, Neff's face flushed red as a tomato. "I plead the Fifth."  
  
Jed chuckled. "You've got to admit, Neff, he was kind of cute."   
  
Everyone was silent for a moment, and then stared incredulously at Jed.  
  
"What?" he said, blinking his eyes in an attempt to look innocent.  
  
Neff raised his eyebrows suspiciously. "I've still got his phone number if you'd like to call him up."  
  
"Hey, I didn't say that I'd like him," he said defensively. "But you two DID make an awfully cute couple. I especially liked the part where you offered to walk him home. The look on your face when he told you the name of his fraternity was priceless."  
  
"You know," Zory interjected, before Neff could come up with a comeback, "this is all fascinating and enlightening and what the heck ever, but let's take it outside. I think both the Prince and Malachi deserve some peace and quiet."  
  
Jed scratched his head sheepishly. "Yeah."  
  
"Saved by the pipsqueak," Neff muttered, as he turned to exit. He was rewarded with a sharp kick to the back of his knee, courtesy one pipsqueak. "OW!"  
  
Zory smirked, brushing past the taller brunette as he left the room.  
  
Malachi watched the door close behind them, grateful for the silence. He leaned back against the couch, rubbing his eyes. As tired and drained as he felt, he knew he could not possibly sleep right now. Every time he closed his eyes, the memories buzzed through his head, threatening to overwhelm him again. He pushed them back, to a dark corner of his mind where they would be less harmful. He'd deal with them later, when he could. For now, all he could do was hold them at arm's length.  
  
//It's a good thing Mamoru's asleep,// Malachi thought, turning over on his side to watch the prince occupying his bed. //He'd guilt to next Thursday if he knew what just happened. I can't fault him for sharing those things with us; they are, whether we like it or not, rightfully ours.//  
  
//That doesn't make it any more pleasant.// Slowly, as though he was weighed down by bags os sand, he stood and walked to the bed. Mamoru rolled over with a quiet sigh, unconsciously   
  
brushing some stray bangs from his eyes.  
  
"Prince..." Malachi put out his hand carefully, delicately holding the other man's face. "I promise, I won't let you down. You deserve the best we have to give."  
  
The black-haired man stirred, feeling the brush of Malachi's hand on his face. Malachi had not intended to wake his Prince up, but he was nevertheless rewarded with those striking blue eyes. "Prince?" He said softly, sitting down on the edge of the bed.  
  
Mamoru blinked up at him, confusion written on his face. "...Kunzite?" He asked warily, not altogether sure who he was looking at.  
  
Malachi smiled. He had, after all, been two seperate beings a few hours ago. "It's me, Prince." He was about to say something more, but any words he would have said died before ever reaching his lips, because at that moment Mamoru sat bolt upright and pulled the silver haired man into a tight embrace. The show of emotion was so unexpected from the normally aloof Japanese man that at first Malachi could do nothing but sit awkwardly, too stunned to move.  
  
"You're here! You're really here!" Mamoru blurted into his hair. "I thought... God, I thought I dreamed it..."  
  
Malachi finally recovered from his initial shock, and wrapped his arms around him. "I'm here, Prince."  
  
"I thought I'd lost you..." Mamoru knew how silly it sounded; he'd had those stones in his pocket for more than two years and had never misplaced them. But it wasn't just their souls he needed; he had to be able to see them, to hold them like he was now. Just having the holograms wasn't enough.  
  
"You brought us back, Prince." It was not long before Malachi's shoulders was feeling wet. //He can't be...!//  
  
Kunzite had lived in Mamoru's pocket for two years. He had watched over him as he slept, had seen him come stumbling home from near-fatal battles, had sat near him as he dealt with all the painful issues in his life. In all that time, not once had Kunzite ever seen his Prince cry. Not when he became stressed, not when he thought of his parents death, not even when he and Usako had issues. Kunzite had suspected that he was simply not the kind of person to cry when emotional. He saw now how wrong he was.  
  
"I missed you so much..."   
  
Malachi gently pulled away, drawing Mamoru off his shoulder. He took Mamoru's face in both his hands and looked directly at him, their noses almost touching. "We will never abandon you again, Prince. I promise you, you'll never have to be alone again."  
  
Mamoru reached up and cupped his hands over the ones that held his face. "Thank you."  
  
They sat that way for what seemed like hours, indescribably relieved that both of their nightmares of solitude were over. After awhile, Mamoru noticed something.  
  
"Is it just me, or does this seem like the point where we're supposed to fall in a passionate, flaming liplock?"  
  
"Well, let's see. Are we in the middle of a cheesy B-movie?"  
  
"Not last time I checked."  
  
"Then probably not."  
  
Mamoru lowered his hands. "Oh good. Because for a moment there I thought Haruka would have a reason to beat me senseless with a wrench."  
  
Malachi wiped the tears off his friend's cheek with the edge of his shirt. "She needs a reason for that?"  
  
Mamoru snickered. "No, probably not. But it would be nice to know that I'm not in the wrong while my head is being slammed against the pavement."  
  
"Speaking of Haruka, didn't you hang up on her a few hours ago?"  
  
He winced. "Shit, I forgot all about that. And Usako's probably worried, too."  
  
Malachi smiled gently. "Go outside and call her. I'll distract the other guys with booze until you're finished."  
  
"Thank you," Mamoru said, retrieving his cellphone from his otherwise empty pocket. "I'd hate to think what kind of pleasant, intelligent things they'd have to say while I'm making long-distance kissy noises to my fiancé."  
  
Rather than try out his amazing spy tactics in trying to avoid frat boys on the way out the front door, Mamoru opted for climbing out Malachi's window. Once he was safely outside of hearing distance, he leaned against the side of the building, and with a determined sigh, speed-dialed his princess.  
  
"Hello?! Mamochan?!" She answered frantically.   
  
Mamoru immediately felt a pang of guilt in his chest. //All this time she's been worrying about me, and here I've been unconscious like a selfish bastard.//  
  
"Usako, I--"  
  
"Oh, Mamochan, I was so afraid something terrible had happened to you!" she sobbed into the phone. "I don't care what awful things Haruka-san was saying, I knew you were in trouble, and, and--"  
  
"Usako, it's okay now. I'm fine. The threat's over," he said quietly. //For now.//  
  
"Oh thank goodness!" She bawled. "All Haruka-san would tell me was that you were a dirty liar and a cheat and... and..."  
  
"Usako, Usako! Everything's okay. Please, there was just a misunderstanding between Haruka-san and me, everything's alright, I promise."  
  
"Okay. I'm just glad you're alright," she sniffled. "Mamochan, why didn't you call me earlier?"  
  
//Crap.// "Well, an interesting story, that. I've been having quite a lot of problems with--"  
  
"Mamoru-san, I've been looking all over for you!"  
  
//No. No, not now. Go away. Don't even come near me.//  
  
"Mamochan, who was that?" Usagi sniffed, a hint of suspicion in her voice. "There isn't another woman with you, is there?"  
  
"Well, there wasn't five seconds ago," he grumbled as Lunette came jogging toward him at full speed.  
  
"You took off so fast last night! Why haven't you called me?"  
  
Usagi was not the most fluent in English. In fact, if it were not for Ami's expert coaching, she would have likely failed high school English by now. But Ami, fortunately, had studied alongside her for hours, painstakingly helping her through such difficult words such as "last," "night," and "called."  
  
"...Mamochan?" she squeaked tearfully.  
  
"Usako, I'm sorry, I've just been interrupted," he said, reassuringly. He cupped his hand over the bottom of his phone. "Look, Lunette, this is a bad time. I'm trying to apologize to my fiancé. Can we save this for later?"  
  
Lunette looked down at her shoes. "Oh, did I interrupt a private moment? I'm sorry, I, I didn't mean to."  
  
On Usagi's end, all she could catch was, "bad ... apologize ... save for later," followed by, "did ... private." She was getting more and more worried by the way this other conversation was going.  
  
She had never found a reason to mistrust Mamoru. Even when he had been in the Dark Kingdom, even when he hadn't contacted her after weeks of supposedly being at Harvard, she still placed all of her faith in her love for him. But Haruka-san had painted such a dismal picture of him after their last conversation had been cut short...  
  
"Mamochan, I demand you tell me what's going on right now!"  
  
"Everything's alright, Usako, it's just--"  
  
"Then why are you saying things like that to a strange girl?" She said shrilly. "And where have you been all day? Why did Rei-chan say you sounded so tired when she called? Why did Haruka-san say you've been lying to her? Why haven't you been calling me, Mamochan?"  
  
"Usa, please, I--"  
  
"I've been sitting in this hospital all day, waiting for you Mamochan! Everyone kept telling me that you were being suspicious, but I defended you! I..." To Mamoru's utter horror, she fell to sobbing into the phone, and while he would have loved nothing other than to hold her tight, he could do little other than clutch the cellphone to his ear.  
  
Throughout all this, Lunette watched with a deviant look in her eye. While Mamoru tried desperately to calm his Usako down, she strolled up to him, a prominant sway in her hips. Before he even noticed how close she was, she had put her lips close to his--just as close to the phone he was speaking into--and whispered a choice Japanese phrase.  
  
Mamoru's eyes widened. He was certain she had not learned that in class.  
  
"Mamochan!" Usagi shrieked. Oh, she had dared trust him, and now he was off with some hussy who was whispering explicit things to him! While he was on the phone with his fiancé, no less! "I can't believe you, behind my back..."  
  
"Get off me!" Mamoru bellowed, as Lunette's hand had begun to snake its way around to his backside. He elbowed her violently aside, and she fell with a pride-filled "humph!" on her dainty rear-end.   
  
"Usako--"  
  
"No, I don't want to hear it! I'm too mad at you to accept any cock and bull explainations!"  
  
Mamoru didn't have time to wonder where Usagi had learned the phrase "cock and bull." Haruka, most likely.  
  
"But Usako, please listen--"  
  
"No, I'm through listening to you!" she half sobbed, half screamed into the phone. "All this time I've been worrying for you, afraid you were dead, and you've really just been off whispering sweet nothings to other women! You LIED to me when you said you would only have eyes for me! Is this ring a lie, too?"  
  
"No, Usa, listen--"  
  
"I'm sorry I couldn't be as exciting as those American girls," Usagi spat bitterly. "I guess all this time I've just been holding you back. Maybe my friends have been right all this time and I've been too blind to see it. Maybe you really are nothing but a two-timing good-for-nothing liar!"  
  
Mamoru's breath caught in his throat. She was right, he hadn't been entirely truthful these past few days. And once he thought about it, hadn't he been leading this Lunette woman on? He had even found himself thinking about her on more than one occasion! Granted, his thoughts usually had to do with how much she looked like Usako, but still! Wasn't that like cheating?  
  
He had been too afraid to tell her the truth; the truth about the Shitennou, the truth about the evil Senshi, and the truth about Lunette.  
  
"Run out of quick excuses?" she snapped.  
  
Mamoru noticed that the hand clenched around his cellphone was trembling. That was all he could give her now. Excuses. He had been dancing around the truth, in the hopes that he could sugar-coat it, to keep her from worrying. Or that was what he told himself he was hoping. What had he really wanted all this time?  
  
Usagi's righteous anger dissipated slightly when there was silence on the end of the line. Maybe she had gone too far. Maybe there was a logical explaination. Maybe--  
  
"...I'm sorry, Usa. You're right."  
  
"I am?" she said, not masking her incredulous tone in the slightest.  
  
"The Senshi were right to say those things to you. I...I'm not good for you. I can't tell you the truth without becoming afraid."  
  
Usagi listened silently. What was he saying?  
  
"You don't deserve someone who lies to you, Usa. I'm sorry you wasted your time with me." Before she could say another word, he hung up on her and chucked the phone at the ground. It bounced once, skidded across the pavement, and finally came to rest half-submerged in a puddle.  
  
"Mamoru-kun?" Lunette said softly, watching him warily.  
  
"Get away from me, Lunette." His voice was so quiet that she could barely hear him. But even then, she could hear how much it was shaking.  
  
"I... I'm sorry..."  
  
"Get away from me."  
  
With a moment of hesitation, the blonde skittered to her feet. She gave Mamoru a pleading, apologetic look before turning on her heels and running off in the direction of ... well, he didn't particularly care WHERE the direction was headed, though the road to Hell was looking mighty pleasurable.   
  
With a sob of defeat, he crumpled against the aging plaster building as his knees gave way. In the span of one phonecall, he had neatly ruined everything that was good in his life.   
  
//Not many people could boast that kind of achievement,// he thought, somewhere between rage and despair. //God, I can just see the smirk on Haruka's face when she finds out she was right...//  
  
It was a beautiful afternoon, with the sun peeking from between dappled clouds in the deep azure sky. Its beauty was lost on one miserable individual who slumped alone against the side of the frathouse, thinking about how the one beautiful, perfect thing in his life was now gone. He sat there by himself for a long time, his blue eyes staring vacantly ahead.  
  
The sound of footsteps brushed through the grass, but Mamoru did not bother to look up. If an enemy was coming to kill him for good, they could go right ahead and be done with it.  
  
"Um, I take it the conversation didn't go as planned?" Malachi said hesitantly, crouching down next to his prince.  
  
"It's over. All this time, we've been working so hard, trying to keep our love in tact for the sake of each other, for the future...I've ruined everything."  
  
Malachi noted, not without concern, that it sounded very much like he was talking with a zombie. There was absolutely no emotion in his voice; it sounded as though it were weighed down with lead blocks.  
  
"What could you have possibly done to 'ruin everything?'" he asked, somewhat skeptical. "Forgive me, Prince, but you do have the tendency to paint yourself a much darker picture than..."  
  
The sentence died before Malachi could finish it, mostly because the other half of his conversation wasn't listening. Mamoru tucked his head between his knees, quietly sobbing.  
  
"Prince...?" Malachi put a hand on his back, but Mamoru was too miserable to notice. He shook his head incredulously. How could his Prince go from crying with elation to sobbing with inexplicable despair in a matter of minutes?  
  
He slid down against the wall and wrapped his arms around Mamoru, who was shaking with quiet sobs. Malachi gently drew him closer, until the distraught man was leaning against him, his face buried in Malachi's shirt. "Shh. It's okay," he muttered, holding his Prince.  
  
It made no sense! The Usagi that Malachi knew - knew OF, not personally, at any rate - would never leave her prince in such a quivering, emotional mess. She loved him too much for that, didn't she?  
  
Well, if Mamoru had been reduced to a whimpering heap, the answer was probably "no." This left the white haired man without any explaination for the events of the phonecall, except that something had gone very wrong on this side of the Pacific.  
  
Mamoru could not remember having ever been comforted while crying before. For that matter, he was fairly sure that he had never cried in the presence of another person before, yet here he was, blubbering away in front of Malachi for the second time that day. He would normally have felt foolish like this, but after having his heart ripped in two and run over by a semi-truck, he was beyond caring what other people thought of him. And it was rather comforting to have a shoulder to lean on for once.  
  
It never crossed his mind that perhaps he was overreacting. That Usagi went off into jealous rages like this frequently - all he had to do was look at a woman, or even a man, and she would fly off the handle and pout and cry like there was no tomorrow. No, apparently that wasn't important - she had finally told him off, as Mamoru had expected she would for many, many a month.  
  
It occured to Malachi, however. And he was very, very nervous. Because, as he now remembered from experience, his prince had the tendency to do very stupid things when his love was involved.  
  
Like dying, as an example.  
  
Malachi loved his prince, and respected him to no end. But he knew very well that only the Princess could make the normally calm, intellegent, rational man become reduced to a bumbling idiot in a matter of seconds. It was moments like that that Mamoru really needed protecting. The times when he was too blinded by his love to see the twenty-foot wall of fire--or whatever proverbial lethal entity it happened to be--about to crush him.   
  
In light of his exhaustion from the events of the last two days, Mamoru's crying was short-lived, and before long he had slipped into a restless sleep, his breathing punctuated by the occasional mild sob. Malachi brushed a few stray black bangs off his face. //Thank God the others brought me to my senses. I can't imagine him being out here all by himself.//  
  
"C'mon, Prince. Let's go inside," Malachi said quietly, grabbing the discarded cellphone before carefully scooping Mamoru up in his arms. After a moment of deliberation, he decided to go through the front door. Firstly, he didn't want to dump his prince through the window, in the event that the sudden drop would startle him and, very likely, hurt him. Secondly, it seemed rather unecessary to break into his own room.  
  
"I take it the conversation didn't go so well," Jed commented, quite seriously, when Mamoru was redeposited on Malachi's bed.   
  
"I think, if I hadn't gone out there, he would have found any sharp object laying on the ground and done away with himself." Malachi massaged his temple roughly. "A lover's quarrel is the last thing he needs right now."  
  
He was so busy thinking about Mamoru and how much is head was hurting, that at first he did not notice how somber the other three looked. But when he glanced up at the trio gathered on the couch, Malachi immediately felt his heart sink as he saw the looks on their faces. The most disconcerting, however, was Jed, who looked as though he would follow his Prince's lead and collapse in a sobbing heap. "What is it now?" He asked wearily.  
  
Neff and Zory glanced at each other dismally. "We think we've figured out how we got here," Neff replied shortly.  
  
"How we got here?" Malachi repeated, not following.  
  
"How are bodies got here," Zory clarified. "Neff and Jed suddenly remembered a few things, and we got to talking, and... well, it's starting to make sense, I guess."  
  
"And I'll take a wild guess and say it was not some just as simple as Mamoru idly wishing we had bodies on afternoon, over a cup of coffee?"  
  
"Not even close." Neff suddenly reached over and squeezed Jed's wrist - his whole arm had begun to shake.  
  
"I know, Jed," he said, so quietly he might as well have mouthed it. "I know."  
  
Malachi pulled up his desk chair and sat down, more than a little worried about where this was going. Anything that could make the normally clownish blonde this upset was cause for concern, especially if it had to do with their memories, which, as he himself had discovered, were potent enough to make one physically ill. One thing was certain--they could not take these memories lightly.  
  
Keeping one hand on Jed's, Neff turned to Malachi. "Do you remember what happened to our bodies after the Sailor Senshi killed us?"  
  
"Yes." Remember it? He could draw that place blindfolded. The little room of dark stone that smelled of mildew, streaks of water damage running down the walls. The three glass coffins containing the charred, decaying remains of his dead friends. The two candles that burned incessantly, their flames flickering in whisps of wind with unknown origin. Few places in the Dark Kingdom remained in his mind so clearly. But he had spent so many hours there, especially after the appearance of the Ginzuishou...  
  
"And yours?" Zory asked, not masking the curiosity in his voice. He looked as though he was trying to work out the details of an especially difficult algebra problem.  
  
Malachi shook his head. "I can't really tell you that, but I can only assume it went to the same place as the others."  
  
"It did," Jed said softly, startling all of them. "There were four coffins."  
  
"How do you...?"   
  
"Believe me, I'd be just as happy never knowing." He shuddered, trying very hard to keep his emotions - whether it was sadness or anger, it was hard to tell from Malachi's perspective - in check. "The first thing I remember is waking up in that coffin, with someone prying at the lid. I was so afraid I was going to suffocate, but I was too weak to do anything but lay there and hope whoever it was had quick fingers."  
  
Normally, that kind of phrase would have earned the blonde a rough and playful smack upside the head. However, this was definitely not normal. Normal had been left hitchhiking quite a few miles back on the side of the highway.  
  
Malachi stared at him. "Wait, you mean those bodies were revived?"  
  
Neff nodded. "Remember that day leading up to the final battle with Metallia? When Princess Serenity stabbed the Prince with the Moon Sword and then turned it on herself?"  
  
Malachi nodded, surpressing a shudder. He remembered few things from that battle, but one of them was the immense pain that had torn throughout his soul as he used every ounce of his strength to take the the blade in place of his Prince. It was amazing how four little rocks could absorb the blow of a two-foot sword being stabbed through the chest.  
  
"When that happened," Zory continued, "the two parts of the Ginzuishou united. While they were still in the Dark Kingdom."  
  
"So when the Ginzuishou's light filled the Dark Kingdom, it brought those dead bodies back to life, is that what you're getting at?"  
  
"While our stones were already conveniently situated in Mamoru's pocket, completely oblivious to their other halves."  
  
"We didn't have much time to get out of the Dark Kingdom, before it was decimated," Jed said quietly, scrunching his fingernails into the folds of his pants. "I...I remember being picked up, because I was too weak to walk, and being carried away..."  
  
"All of us were." Neff held his friend's hand in a reassuring grip. "Most of our bases were destroyed or uninhabitable already, but while the last strains of Dark Kingdom energy were dying, we ended up teleported here. I guess the youma figured we'd be safe at the base, since there was now a university on top of it--"  
  
"Wait," Malachi interrupted. "Youma? We were carried here by youma?"  
  
"Oddly enough, yes. Remember how I kept saying that most of the youma here were more loyal to me than they were to Beryl? There was... one in particular who was oddly against Beryl's ideals. Her name was Tethys."  
  
Jed made a small whimper at the name and leaned against Neff's arm, half-burying his face in the taller man's sleeve. Malachi looked at them blankly, clearly not understanding some important point. "Tethys?"  
  
"You were usually too busy to pay much attention to all the gossip going on in the Dark Kingdom," Zory said carefully. "I guess you wouldn't remember the rumors surrounding her and Jadeite."  
  
"Namely, that she was infatuated with him," Neff cut in. "She was one of the highest ranking youma serving him. But her... oddly human emotions were the talk of the underground. And while I'm sure it was quite flattering having a blue-skinned woman with spikes on her arms have a crush on you, he didn't exactly feel the same way."  
  
"I treated her like dirt," Jed spat, the bitterness evident in his voice.  
  
"Jed, you've got to understand - that's what most of them were. Dirt. They were expendable." Zory sighed. "I'm not condoning it, but among the rest of the things we did, I'd say--"  
  
"You'd say what, Zory? You were so busy pining over him--" Jed's outburst was only stopped briefly as he gestured toward Malachi "--that you didn't pay any attention to the youma you created."  
  
"Ex-CUSE me?" Zory's voice was calm only by millimeters. "Where do you get off, saying I was pining over Malachi?"  
  
"Denial isn't just a river in Egypt, I guess," Jed snapped angrily.  
  
"Jed, either finish your story or shut up," Neff snapped back. "Don't take out your frustrations on Zory. He didn't do anything to you."  
  
"Sorry," Jed grumbled, though Malachi could still see the hurt expression on Zory's face. He knew the reasons that the blonde had sought him out in the Dark Kingdom, and it really did not have anything to do with sexual desire. The need for some sense of human warmth--even if it did come from a heartless bastard--had never completely frozen over in Zory.  
  
"Anyway," Neff continued, throwing a glare at Jed, "when her affections became too much for him, I did Jadeite a favor by having her transferred over to my base here in exchange for a couple low-rank sludge monsters. Personally, I think I got the better end of the deal," he added.  
  
"She still loved me. That's what I don't understand. Even after I shuttled her over here, she still spent her last hours alive by saving me..." That did it. The dams broke, the walls gave way, and Jed broke down into hysterical tears. He fell over into Neff's lap, weeping, and it was all the brunette could do to rub his back sympathetically.   
  
"Tethys oversaw the plan to bring us here," Neff said quietly. "We were put down in front of the frat house, and as the youma disintegrated without Metallia's energy to hold them together, Tethys gave Jed one last kiss before ... dying, I guess."  
  
So that was it, then? Their presence in California, their forged documents, their enrollment in Stanford... all because of a single youma? She had taken care of all of them, had given them lives--real lives without Metallia--when she could just as easily have left them to die in their coffins. The Greeks had called Tethys a goddess of motherhood. How appropriate her name seemed now.  
  
Malachi reached out and ran his fingers through Jed's hair, finally understanding how the blonde felt. To suddenly discover that someone he had treated as a slave--less than that; an object, even--had devoted the last moments of her life to saving him, that was enough to make anyone cry. They all owed their lives to Tethys.  
  
No one said anything for quite some time; Neff and Malachi comforted Jed as he continued to weep, curled over Neff's lap in a mixture of extreme sadness and self-loathing. Zory was content to sit back and let them do as they would - not that he himself didn't want to offer his sympathy, but two things were holding him back. Firstly, as the lean blonde touched his cheek, still slightly tender from their earlier war of words, he decided that he didn't want to run the risk of upsetting his friend any further.  
  
Secondly, he wanted to think about Malachi. Rather, Jed's comment about his feelings for Malachi.  
  
Had he really pined for his older friend, his leader, all those years in the Dark Kingdom? It hadn't really been lust, or even romantic love, though he had his moments wishing for either to be reciprocated. But as far as Zory knew, he was the only one out of the Shitennou who had never been completely decimated by Beryl's mindwipes. He still wanted companionship. He still wanted comfort. And he wanted the real Kunzite back. Not the one that manhandled him--Zoisite, rather--every time he wasn't treated with respect, not the one who was the puppet and tool and sex slave to an arrogant, ruthless witch - no, the one that laughed all the way up to his eyes, the one that offered hugs, the one who was tangible and real and still human.  
  
The one who was gathering Jed into his arms and holding him while he cried.  
  
There had been countless times in the Dark Kingdom when Zoisite had wanted to be held like that. When he would have given anything for that moment of human warmth and unashamed compassion. Kunzite had tolerated his occasional fits of clinginess if only for the sake of having something to kick around. Zoisite had known this, but still he kept going back to Kunzite. He had been that desperate.  
  
Zory watched the white-haired man as he comforted his friend, gently stroking his back and rocking him. Malachi seemed to have forgotten that barely an hour ago, he had been lying half-conscious in a puddle of vomit and self-loathing. That was the Malachi he knew. The one who took care of his friends, who thought of himself last. When someone was hurting, he was the first to comfort them. When someone was in trouble, he was the first to come to their aid. When something was wrong with one of them, nothing else in the world seemed to matter to Malachi except that person's well-being.  
  
Malachi glanced up at Zory, wondering how he was coping with all this. What bothered him was how quiet the blonde had been. Zory was, quite frankly, the most openly emotional person he knew. This did not make the boy weak, by any means, but it did mean that if he felt like crying, then by God he was going to cry, and if you did not like it then you could go to Hell, thank you very much. The fact that he had not shown any emotion since regaining his memories was beginning to worry him.  
  
Finally, Jed's tears subsided, and he sat up. "I'm sorry, guys," he shakily tried to apologize, but Neff would have none of it.  
  
"No sorry necessary, Jed. We understand. Well, as best we can." The brunette helped him to his feet. "I think you could use some sleep, my friend. Come on; I'll stand guard to keep it quiet outside. Anyone who comes within three feet of the door, who isn't sitting in this room right now, will regret ever doing it."  
  
Jed nodded silently, for fear he'd start bawling again. He and Neff - Jadeite and Nephrite, if he was going all the way back - had always competed with each other. They had always fought like small children; it seemed, to any outsider, that they held each other in very little esteem. That was, in fact, the exact opposite. Neff cared as much for his friends as he did for his Prince, even as arrogant and self-interested as he appeared most of the time.  
  
The two exited the room, Jed leaning on Neff's arm for support. No sooner had the door closed than Malachi sank onto the couch, looking for all he was worth like he had just run a twenty-mile marathon. He and Zory slid down to lean against either armrest, so that both lay half-curled on the two ends of the couch, looking at each other over the amalgamation of knees that hovered between them.  
  
"How are you doing, Malachi?" Zory sighed casually.  
  
"All things considered? I guess you could say I'm surviving." After a moment he added, "how about you?"  
  
"I'm just fine."  
  
"Zory," Malachi said, his tone oddly paternal. "The truth. How are you really doing?"  
  
"I'm fi--"  
  
"Don't lie to me!" Malachi hadn't intended to shout it so loudly. "Zory, I nearly vomited to death in the bathroom an hour ago, and yet you haven't once even cried this whole time! You're holding something in!"  
  
"You're going to wake up Mamoru," Zory said, scarily calm despite his sudden white-knuckled death grip on the couch. "For God's sake, keep your voice down."  
  
Malachi took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. What was wrong with him, yelling at Zory? It was not as though he had done anything wrong. He leaned back, staring at the ceiling. "I'm sorry," he said, much more quietly. "I didn't mean to yell at you like that, Zory. I'm just worried about you, alright?"  
  
The blonde gave him a wan smile. His grip on the couch loosened a little. "Keep worrying like that and you'll give yourself an aneurysm. Between Jed, the Prince, and me, you've done nothing but worry all day. Next I'm sure you'll have Neff crying on your shoulder."  
  
"When that happens, I think we can safely say the End of the World is upon us."   
  
"Hey, I said that about Jed crying, too, and we've shot that one all to pieces. Anything is possible now. You're not planning to declare your undying love for me now, are you?"  
  
Malachi cleared his throat. "Well, now that you've spoiled the surprise...OW!"   
  
"That's what you get for teasing." Zory smirk was flimsy at best, and his white haired companion suspected idly that he'd hit a nerve.  
  
"Zory, you can't honestly tell me you're 100% fine with all of this. You know just as much as the rest of us, and if there's one thing I've learned about you, it's that you don't take emotional baggage lightly." Malachi reached out and put his hand on the blonde's knee. "Please? I don't want you to feel like, just because we've got all these memories back, our friendship is the same as it was before. I'll listen to you this time, I promise."  
  
What was left of Zory's smirk faded altogether, and he absentmindedly picked at the fabric on the couch. "I don't know what to tell you, Malachi. I guess... I feel numb right now, like I've lost my ability to feel anything. I want to cry, but..." he sighed. "Maybe I'm still in shock from all this. Maybe tomorrow I'll be able to just let it out like Jed did. But right now... God, Malachi, I can't even tell you what I feel."  
  
Malachi nodded, but was not at all appeased. Seeing the normally flamboyant blonde act so emotionless under the circumstances was unsettling to say the least.  
  
He likened it to their roles being reversed; Zory had blocked out all of his emotions, and Malachi was feeling them tenfold. It was a terribly unamusing cosmic joke, by his estimation.  
  
"Is there anything I can do?" he offered, knowing there was probably very little.  
  
Zory sighed again. "I don't know. I don't know anything right now. I can't tell you how I feel, I can't tell you what I need; it feels like I've got...I don't know, a blockage or something."  
  
"Zory," Malachi sat up all the way so he could face his companion directly. "I know that there were a lot of things that went on in the Dark Kingdom. And in every memory I have of you, I treated you horribly. You don't know how sorry I am for that."  
  
"That's not--"  
  
"Please, Zory. I don't..." He took a breath, collecting his thoughts. "I don't want you to think I'm that person. I don't want you cringing every time I look at you, half-expecting me to hit you. I don't want you to feel like you can't talk to me anymore."  
  
"It's not your fault, Malachi." Zory put his hand over his friend's. "You aren't that Kunzite any more, and I know it. I would never be afraid of you."  
  
"I wish I could believe that," Malachi said, looking away. "But I just can't. Every memory - do you understand? Every one! The only time I can't picture you on the floor, whimpering over a black eye, is after you were de...you were de..."  
  
"I'm not condoning what you did, Malachi, but that wasn't you! The Shitennou of the Dark Kingdom weren't real people. They were puppets. They were all abused by a psychotic, self-centered, spoiled queen who did anything and everything to get what she wanted."  
  
"I just can't help feeling like I'm the one who did this to you." He had said it so softly it was barely audible, but Zory still caught its meaning.  
  
The blonde sat up and pulled the taller man into his arms, burying his face in the silken silver hair. He did not mind how Malachi leaned heavily against him, weary from the raw emotion that left him scathed and bruised. Their roles did indeed feel reversed.  
  
"You can't keep blaming yourself for all the bad things in the world, Malachi. Believe it or not, you really aren't responsible for every little thing that goes wrong."  
  
"No, but I am responsible for what Kunzite--what I--did to you. That won't just go away. And..." There was silence for a moment. "I'm afraid I could do it again, Zory. I couldn't live with myself if I hit you."  
  
"Malachi, you're more likely to hit a person who called me a pussy than actually hit me. You know that as well as I do." Zory massaged his friend's back slowly, reassuringly.  
  
"I'm not sure what I really know anymore," Malachi said, strained. "I...I can't tell the difference between my own memories and Kunzite's! I try to think of something simple, like our Advanced Sedimentary Dating midterm, and I end up with a lecture from Beryl about Jadeite's failure and we're going to do much better, aren't we?"  
  
"Malachi, you may have been that person at one time, but you're not that person now, and you're never going to be that person again. You said yourself that these memories have changed nothing between us. You're still the same Malachi that you were yesterday." He drew back so that he could look up into his friend's face, and was again stricken by how much older Malachi seemed. The past centuries seemed to weigh heavily on him. "You're still Malachi, but now you're Kunzite too. Not Beryl's Kunzite, not the one who was controlled and manipulated and forced to do horrible things. The real Kunzite would never do all those things."  
  
Zory reached up and stroked his hair, curling a white strand behind his ear. "I'll tell you why I haven't cried yet, Malachi. Because even though I have so many bad memories from the Dark Kingdom, I suddenly have so many good ones from before that. We were so happy then, Malachi. Do you remember that? These past two years of living together in this frat house, joking together, getting into trouble, helping each other cram for exams, it's been just like it was then. And now we've got the one thing that's been missing. We've got him back." Zory did not need to indicate who "him" was. "We're not what Beryl tried to make us out to be. We're what we've always been deep down inside."  
  
//...I sound like an afterschool special,// Zory thought, smiling a little. //If Malachi says, "Thanks, man," I'm afraid I'll have to--//  
  
"Thanks, man."  
  
//...kill myself.// Zory couldn't help it. He giggled quietly, under his breath. "Any time, Malachi. You're always here for me, and it only seems fair that I be on the giving end for a change."  
  
"Here I intended to comfort you, and you ended up comforting me." Malachi smiled at the irony. "Not quite sure how that happened."  
  
Zory was about to say something in response, but was interrupted by a small "Usa..." Mamoru rolled over in his sleep, curling into a ball beneath the covers.  
  
"We should take this outside. I'm surprised we haven't woken him already."  
  
Zory nodded his agreement. "With all that's been going on, he needs all the sleep he can get."  
  
Slowly untangling themselves from the mess of limbs they had managed to get into, the pair left the room, but not before pausing for a concerned look over their shoulders.  
  
"He's going to be okay, isn't he?" Zory asked, slipping out into the hallway.  
  
"As long as we're here." Malachi shut the door behind him without as much as a click.  
  
----  
  
"Mamochan, please help me!"  
  
Her tortured screams rang through his head, but no matter how hard he searched, he could not see her through the dense fog. "Usa!" Where was she? Why couldn't he find her?  
  
"Mamochan...!"  
  
He desperately tried to wave the fog away from his eyes, but to no avail. Everything past his nose was hidden from sight.  
  
"He's not going to help you." A rich, female voice. Powerful, angry. "He's too lost to help you. Too stupid."  
  
"Usa, I'm here!" Mamoru shouted. "Usa!"  
  
But where was here? Some random, foggy field? A dreamscape? Hell?  
  
"Mamochan!"  
  
"The greatest Sailor Crystal in the galaxy will belong to me. I can see the shine now..."  
  
"Mamochan!" Usagi cried, echoing all around. "Mamochan, come save me!"  
  
"You think he can save you?" the female voice asked, amused. "He doesn't have the power to save you. He doesn't have any power at all."  
  
"Usa!" He stumbled around at random, but no matter where he went the voices became neither louder nor softer, but continued to echo all around him.   
  
"Mamochan, please!"  
  
"Look how weak he is!" The voice laughed. "He can't even find you, let alone help you."  
  
"Mamochan!"  
  
"What beautiful light that Sailor Crystal will hold. All this time you've wasted that light on him. He doesn't deserve that light."  
  
"Mamocha--"  
  
Usagi's plea for help was cut short. There was a flash of golden light, followed by an ear-splitting scream as the Ginzuishou was ripped from her chest.  
  
"USA!" Mamoru groped blindly in the fog, hoping for some clue that would lead him to Usagi before it was too late.  
  
Finally, after a few agonizing seconds, he saw one translucent pigtail draped on the ground. He dropped to his knees, picking up the fading girl as best he could.  
  
"Mamochan, why? Why couldn't you find me?" she asked, tears pouring down her face.   
  
He tried to say something, tried to tell her how much he loved her and how sorry he was, but his voice refused to come to him.  
  
She looked up at him, her crystal blue eyes filled with hurt and betrayal. "Mamochan... I..." Before she could get the words out, her voice began to fade, taking the rest of her body with it. He tried to hold her tight, to pull her close to him, but found himself hugging only empty air. White motes of light danced around him, drifting away from him into the fog.  
  
"USAKO!"  
  
"Too late, Prince."   
  
Unsuspecting, Mamoru was kicked in the head by a golden boot. His vision dipped in and out of darkness as he toppled over.  
  
Sailor Galaxia stepped into his line of sight, Ginzuishou in hand. "It's such a pity. You tried so hard..."  
  
"Bitch," he growled through gritted teeth.  
  
"Dear boy, flattery will get you nowhere."  
  
He stared at the brilliant white crystal in the golden queen's hand. So many times he had seen that light in her eyes, had felt it wash over him the moment she flashed him one of her gorgeous smiles. "Usa..." He sobbed, hardly daring to believe she was gone.  
  
Galaxia smirked. "It's so pretty, isn't it? You never were deserving of a light such as this."  
  
"Give her back!" Mamoru jumped to his feet angrily, fists waving. "Give back my Usako!"  
  
"You know, I was originally tempted to take your crystal," Galaxia drawled, looking at the shining orb in her hand. "I would have every Sailor crystal in the galaxy! No one could ever rival my power! But what would you do if you were all alone, the only person left who knew of your disgrace? The only person who knew how you failed your princess?"  
  
"GIVE HER BACK!" Mamoru swung for Galaxia's face, but she easily dodged out of his way. She clutched his outstretched arm and, with very little effort, flipped him head over teakettle. He landed roughly on his back a few feet away.  
  
"Besides, your crystal has so little to offer me. Not much power within your chest; you were unfairly blessed with the life of this planet." Galaxia clutched the Ginzuishou in her hand, and it disappeared into space. "What good will it do anyone now? I have taken your planet. Everything you love now belongs to me. I will lay waste to this blue star within a matter of seconds."  
  
She grabbed him roughly by the collar and hauled him up until he was facing her. "Silly boy." Her golden lips drew up into a vicious grin. "You actually thought you had the strength to protect this planet. To protect HER." She clucked her tongue patronizingly. "My, what a foolish notion. And now you get to live on without either, knowing that the loss of both was all your fault."  
  
"NO! USA!"  
  
Mamoru sat up in bed, his chest heaving, beads of sweat pouring down his face. "Usa..." he panted. Half of his mind told him that it was all a dream, that his Usako was perfectly safe, and that Galaxia was no longer a threat. The other half was reeling madly, and it came as no surprise to him when he realized that his face was wet with tears.  
  
//Of course Usako is safe. That was just a nightmare.// He wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans. //However, all things considered, I'm not sure whether it's worse than my current reality.//  
  
Either way, Usagi was gone. Unlike the nightmare, she was alive, and that was a blessing. But much like it, he was alone - subjectively alone, anyway. He had the Shitennou now, and as happy as that should have made him, that paled in comparison to the fact that his fiancé didn't care for him anymore. The one person he had lived for the past few years had left him.   
  
Worst of all, he deserved it.  
  
Galaxia's words echoed through his mind. "He doesn't deserve that light." She was right--he didn't deserve that light, had never deserved it, and now he had screwed up royally and got the one thing that he really did deserve: no Usako.   
  
With trembling fingers, he reached for his wallet, containing the one image he had of his belo--ex-beloved. As he pulled it out, another object slid from his pocket and tumbled onto the floor. A stack of letters, tied together with pink ribbon.  
  
Mamoru felt a sob rise in his throat when he saw the messy, childish handwriting, the "Mamochan" written on the top envelope in large, curly Romaji with a black felt marker, the little heart punctuating his name. Never again would those little hearts be drawn for him, never again would he see his name written so lovingly by the hands of a golden-haired goddess. All of that was gone now. He had destroyed everything.  
  
If his thoughts sounded like an overlydramatic romance novel, he didn't notice. He had sunk too far into the quicksand of his own angst to realize he was overreacting just a tad.  
  
The rational part of his brain screamed, "Just because you had a little misunderstanding doesn't mean your relationship is done for! Give the girl some time to cool off, call her back, explain it all out!"  
  
Of course, Mamoru wasn't listening to that part of his brain. He never did, when self-depreciation was involved.  
  
He began to open his wallet, but stopped himself. The last thing he wanted to see right now was a photograph of the face he would never see again. It was difficult enough to see her handwriting, for goodness sake.  
  
He realized that he was squeezing the wallet in a death grip, and that it was slowly bending beneath his white-knuckled fingers. As he released it from its choke-hold and dropped it on the bed, he noticed how stifling Malachi's room felt. He had to get out, had to move around, had to get some fresh air to clear his head.  
  
Leaving the black wallet and sheaf of letters where they lay, he walked to the door and peered outside. He knew that if the Shitennou saw him leave, they'd want to come with him, most likely to protect him from himself. It was kind of them to be so concerned, but right now he wasn't sure he deserved it. He just needed to think.  
  
Neff was at the end of the hallway, leaning against Jed's door like an angry bouncer. Well, almost like an angry bouncer - he was currently distracted by a spider making a web directly over his head. Malachi and Zory could be heard in the kitchen, and by the light rukus they were making, Mamoru assumed they were attempting to make coffee. If he was quiet enough, they'd never hear him leave.  
  
//Oh good. Now you're going to sneak around them, too? When did you develop this penchant for lying?// he berated himself. //Idiot.//  
  
Nevertheless, he wanted--no, needed--to get outside, and the last thing he wanted right now was for someone to show up and try to cheer him up. He'd just be quiet as he left. After all, he was not exactly sneaking, he just happened to be walking very discretely, and if no one saw him, it was merely because they did not happen to hear him, not because he was intentionally avoiding them. That having been established, he soundlessly closed Malachi's door and tiptoed down the hallway, keeping a careful eye on Neff.  
  
Somehow he made it to the front door without incident, but his hand froze on the doorknob when he heard Zory's voice. "Neff! Do you want some coffee?" Neff shouted back an affirmative yes. "Well, come get it, then. I don't deliver."  
  
"C'mon Zory, I'm busy here."  
  
"I wouldn't define standing around, aimlessly staring at walls as busy."  
  
"Hey, no one's disturbed Jed yet," Neff countered, stalking toward the kitchen.  
  
"Except you three!" Jed bellowed.   
  
With the four men distracted, Mamoru had a clear avenue to escape. More carefully than he'd ever opened a door in his life, he twisted the knob and slipped outside. The cool, early evening air felt good after being in the cramped, stuffy room.   
  
//The sun's almost setting.// He looked around, surprised. //Was I really asleep that long?//  
  
He stumbled down the front steps, not entirely sure where to go. It didn't matter, really. Choosing a direction at random, he ambled down the street with only a minimal sense of where his feet were taking him.  
  
It was a dreary walk. Such thoughts as "I'm never going to walk down the street like this with my arm around her again" or "Usa always liked that kind of flower--too bad I won't be able to give some to her" or merely "I'm such a loser" played through his head in a continuous mantra of self-depreciation. All this really served to do was make him feel worse, but Mamoru hardly felt he deserved the solace of not having someone put him down on a constant basis--even if that someone was himself.  
  
He couldn't have been walking long--not more than ten minutes--when he came upon an empty playground, the setting sun reflecting off the metal equipment. Well, he was walking at random; this seemed like a random enough place to stop and consider what a mess his life was. His shoes crunched softly in the sand as he walked, shoulders slumped, toward a set of swings.  
  
The sky had turned flaming orange, with a smattering of magenta and purple clouds here and there. Mamoru made himself as comfortable as possible on the little kiddie swing, watching the sun disappear into the hills. When the day started, he'd had a fiancé. At it's end, he now had four guardians instead. Somehow, that seemed like an entirely unfair trade.  
  
He dug the tips of his shoes into the sand, slowly pushing the swing back and forth. What was he going to do with himself? He could apologize to his professors for all the class he had missed--they would probably excuse him, if he said he was having a hard time recovering from the fire in his dorm--but after that? He would finish out his years of undergraduate medicine, and then...go back to Japan? That wasn't a good idea: the Senshi would find him, and very likely castrate him. Move on to postgraduate education, become a doctor in America? It was a possibility, but at the moment, it didn't seem particularly exciting.   
  
To tell the truth, at the moment, nothing seemed particularly exciting.  
  
It was not that he didn't like the Shitennou. He absolutely loved them, and would just as eagerly lay down his life for them as they would for him. But for years Usagi had been the only thing that made life worth living. She was his strength, his light. He could not even imagine a life without her. All those Pre-Usako years of his life seemed so empty, so meaningless, compared to the glorious two years with her.   
  
He leaned his head against one of the chains from which his swing was suspended. Nothing mattered without Usako. Not becoming a doctor, and not saving the world. Let the world be taken over by evil Sailor Senshi or aliens or giant squid. This is one prince who will not be stopping them.  
  
//"Giant Alien Squid Senshi Devour Tokyo, Have Yokohama for Desert,"// he thought. //I bet that would make the news.//  
  
As the last of the sun disappeared into the Pacific and the shadows became immeasurably long, the old lights on the playground flickered to life.  
  
//What do I do with the rest of my life? Damn it, this was so much easier when I was just the Token Prince...//  
  
From out of the shadows, a little face appeared. She stepped out into the light of a flickering lamp, teddy bear in tow. Her black hair went all the way down her back in two identical braids, complete with purple bows. Her purple eyes were enormous, like hand-painted doll eyes.  
  
A really creepy, horror movie doll, anyway. Stepping through the sand in her tiny black Mary Janes, she approached Mamoru with some confusion.  
  
"What's wrong, mister?"  
  
For one thing, he was certain that he could now kiss the notion of Crystal Tokyo goodbye. Of course, there was always the possibility that Usagi would just find another king to conveniently take his place. He was not overly sure that King Endymion was all that necessary anyway--she could just as easily be a futuristic Elizabeth.  
  
Mamoru started. He had been so wrapped up in misery that he had not even seen the girl approaching. She paused in front of him, childishly digging the toe of her boot into the soft sand. She was clad in a black dress that, if the skirt were any poofier, would almost resemble the tutu from some bizarre hellish ballet. The neckline was square-cut, and lined with black lace that accented her pale porceline skin.   
  
She tilted her head girlishly, punctuating her question.  
  
"I..." What could he possibly say? That the most beautiful woman in the world never wanted to see him again? She was such a sweet child, the way she dragged that teddy bear behind her. Somehow, she reminded him of Chibi Usa.  
  
Suddenly a thought so horrid and so distressing wormed its way into his mind that it was all Mamoru could do to keep breathing.   
  
Chibi Usa.  
  
If he never married Usagi, if there was no Crystal Tokyo, if they never... got together, there may never be a certain wonderfully adorable pink-haired princess.  
  
If his day had not been a total ruin five seconds ago, it definitely was now. So not only had he condemned himself to a life of solitude and misery, he had wiped his unborn daugther from the timeline. Stab knife, then twist. He gripped the swing's chains until his knuckles nearly popped off his hand. "No...Not, not Chibi Usa..."  
  
"Aw, gee, Mister, it can't be that bad." The little girl pulled her teddy bear forward, which seemed far too heavy for her to carry. "Teddykins 'n I can make it better, I bet."  
  
She lifted the teddy bear--which was nearly as big as she was--into both hands and held it out, so that it was inches from his face. It politely flopped forward, the gentle smile sewn on its muzzle never fading.   
  
Even something so adorable could not phase Mamoru, however. Because of him, Chibi Usa would never be born. He had killed her! His own daughter, the only thing that could match Usako's light in his life, had been murdered by him!  
  
The little girl frowned as he began to sob uncontrollably. "Don't you want to play with Teddykins?"  
  
That was it. He had effectively ruined everything. Crystal Tokyo would not exist. Chibi Usa would not exist. The knowledge that he had his guardians back could not even begin to soothe him now. He let go of the swing and crumpled forward, head in his hands.   
  
"Oh, I almost forgot!" the little girl chirped, putting the teddy bear down in the sand. "My name's Harmony! My mama says I shouldn't talk to strangers, but you're so sad, an' I wanna help sad people! What's your name?"  
  
Mamoru was far beyond paying attention to the little girl. Part of him hoped she was one of those giant alien squid Senshi in disguise, and she would just pop out a third stomach and eat him already.  
  
"Mister?" She bent down a bit to try and look him in the face, but Mamoru had sunk far too deeply into his own depression to take notice.   
  
Harmony straightened, smoothing the ruffles of her skirt with her delicate little hands. Her immense purple eyes sparkled as a small smile played across her lips. "Don't worry, Mister," she said softly. "I can make it all better. Just leave it to Teddykins an' me. We'll make sure you never feel sad again."  
  
Without so much as a word, the little girl's black dress disappeared, and was replaced by a strange, malformed Sailor uniform with more black lace and bows than could possibly be deemed necessary. Her Silence Glaive glowed faintly in the sick, green lamplight.  
  
"That sounds nice, doesn't it, Mister?" she asked, turning the blade back and forth. "No more pain. No more joy. Just silence. Silence sounds nice now, doesn't it?"  
  
Something in her voice faintly caught Mamoru's attention. He sat up a little to look at her, though his vision was too blurred by tears to be of much use. All he could see of her was a blob of black and purple, but the image was immediately replaced by a violent flash of purple light. Pain exploded in Mamoru's chest as he tumbled backwards off the swing. The world did a sickening flip-flop, and suddenly Mamoru was laying in the sand, struggling to catch his breath despite the sharp pain in his chest.  
  
Harmony jumped on the unsteady swing, Glaive waving carelessly as though it wasn't one of the most dangerous weapons known in the universe. "Oh, did I mention pain? Pain and silence. Nothing but pain and silence!"  
  
As if her unadultered childhood glee were not enough, at the thought of pain and silence, she giggled. "Sanura-mama says I'm psychotic. I dunno what it means, but I think I'd like it."  
  
Mamoru tried to sit up, but it was of no use. Even so much as the slightest movement felt as though his skin were being flayed off. Which, on a list of things to be feeling like, was not very near the top.  
  
Arriving right on time to compound his problems, a loud mechanical roar began to sound, and was increasing in volume by the second. Just as the din escalated to a nearly ear-shattering level, a Harley Davidson skidded across the playground and sent a shower of sand over Mamoru. It circled dangerously close to Mamoru's head, and came to rest next to the merry-go-round.  
  
"Sanura-mama!" Harmony squealed.  
  
"Thought I'd come check up on yah, squirt," a deep, tenor voice said. "Not that I'd want to interrupt your playtime or nothin'."  
  
"You're just in time for fun!" Harmony giggled. "He's just so sad, Sanura-mama! Do you think we can bring him pain and silence?"  
  
"That's our job, kid." The smell of carbon monoxide and cigarette smoke wafted through the air. "Let me know when you're done with him, and I'll finish it off."  
  
"Goody!" Harmony swung the Glaive down, picking Mamoru up by the shirt collar and barely avoided taking his head off in the process. "See, Mister, we just want to help you. You wanna die, and we're gonna help you!"  
  
Mamoru really did not have much room to argue about that. He just wished his death would not involve being sliced open by a giant can opener. When he decided he wanted to die, he was thinking more along the lines of a nice, quiet passing. Like the kind you get from drug overdoses.  
  
Harmony giggled devilishly as her Glaive began to glow purple. Mamoru did not have time to see the blast charge from the tip of the blade where it collided with his chest, because he was too busy being hurled across the playground in a state of extreme pain. Fortunately, the big metal slide stopped him when he crashed into it, nearly cracking his skull and creating a fair amount of pain throughout his head and back.  
  
The little girl clapped her hands excitedly. "Isn't this fun?"  
  
Mamoru was really in no room to argue, considering that his head had just colided at full warp speed with a metal slide, and he was seeing six of everything. Six merry-go-rounds, six demon children, and six tan girls with green mohawks.  
  
Yes, green mohawks.  
  
Sanura took a long drag from her cigarette, unceremoniously adjusting her leather thong while she was at it. "'S really too bad, Prince. You were kinda sexy, in a self-loathin', mis'rable sorta way."  
  
"Unngghn," would have to suffice as, "Gee, thanks" was currently impossible. The man slid uncomfortably down the slide and down to the sand, leaving a faint crimson smear along the surface.  
  
"Sanura-mama, it's your turn!"  
  
The green-haired biker woman smirked, perching her cig precariously between her teeth. "Goody. Dead Scream."  
  
If the close encounter with a children's slide was painful, the freakish biker woman's attack was doubly so. He felt as though it were trying to rip him apart piece by piece. Somehow, though, he still seemed to have all his parts intact when it faded away in a flurry of crimson light.  
  
Mamoru lay on the ground, too weak and hurt to even bother looking up at the ones who were effectively killing him. He was seized by a coughing fit from the sand that filled his nose and mouth. A hand suddenly closed around his throat and pulled him upright. "Yer a whole lot easer ta beat than I expected." He did nothing but wheeze painfully in response. Sanura sneered at him, then planted a fist in his face, letting him again drop to the ground.  
  
He tasted the bitter sting of blood from his split lip almost immediately; combined with the rest of his injuries, the ringing in his ears and stars of pain in his eyes were definitely not making the whole concept of being alive very easy.  
  
"Just a sack of blood 'n organs without yer princess, arencha, Prince?" A sharp stiletto boot came thundering down into his chest, puncturing right through and brushing a rib. Mamoru wheezed in surprise as blood began to seep out, and then spurt as Sanura roughly removed her heel from his chest. "Seems too easy. But you like pain, doncha? You like it when people kick you 'round. You like being worthless."  
  
//"You like being worthless." I...I guess I do.//  
  
But even as he thought it, he was not entirely certain the statement was true. Because while he did nothing but lay there while these girls beat him to death, there was still that tiny, nearly insignificant desire to fight back. Even through his many injuries he could feel it, like a nearly imperceptible itch. It was an itch he refused to scratch.  
  
Sanura swung her boot and one of his ribs made a sickening crack as her foot collided with his side. "This is goin' faster 'n I thought, munchkin," she called, kicking him a second time. "Maybe we can get us some ice cream after."  
  
In a futile attempt to get some air in his lungs, Mamoru took a deep breath, but was rewarded only with body-shaking coughs that sprayed blood all over his shirt.  
  
//My medi-sense tells me that's a bad sign,// he thought, somewhat detatched. //Can't be much longer for me now, I suppose...//  
  
//Coward!// an unknown voice barked at him. //What would Usagi think, if she knew you were going down without a fight because you're more melodramatic than every soap opera ever written?//  
  
//"Ding, dong, the witch is dead?"//  
  
//...I'm going to pretend you didn't say that.//  
  
"Goody, ice cream!" Harmony skipped over to Mamoru's broken, bleeding body cheerfully, pigtails swinging wildly.   
  
The little girl frowned critically at the man at her feet. "I think you got the pain part, Saruna-mama, but I don't think we gave him silence yet."  
  
"Hmm..." Saruna experimentally prodded Mamoru's head with her toe. He groaned as his head flopped to the side, and began coughing up more blood. "Looks like yer right, darlin'. How's about you take a stab at it?"  
  
"Yay!"  
  
//Look, I know you're all broken up over this,// the strange voice continued persistantly, //but I hardly think letting yourself get killed is going to solve matters any. In fact, it's going to make everything much, much worse.//  
  
//I don't mean to be rude or anything,// Mamoru thought wearily, //but I'm hardly going to take advice from the voices in my head. Especially considering how many times I've hit my head recently.//  
  
He winced as the Silence Glaive again narrowly missed beheading him, catching his shirt and dangling him in the air as though he were a fish on a hook. A beam of purple light caught him under the chin and sent him sailing, half-conscious, through the air.   
  
By the time Mamoru landed, falling through the branches of a relatively large maple tree, he could hardly see past his nose, especially for all the blood that was pouring out various orfices. And the little lacey brat was advancing on him again. He tried to support himself by clinging to the branches, but even such simple motor skills such as holding things seemed beyond his grasp.  
  
"It's almost over now," Harmony said, huge purple eyes sparkling with joy. "Pretty soon, you'll have nothing but silence around you. That sounds good, doesn't it? You won't feel sad about losing your princess, 'cause you can't feel -anything-. You want that, don't you, Mister?"  
  
//No, you do NOT want that,// growled a very insistant voice, but Mamoru was quite beyond listening to the voices in his head.  
  
With a neat overhead slash, she sliced through one of the thick boughs that held him, and, squealing with surprise, dodged out of the way before the branch, laden with a 150 pound prince, dropped on her head.   
  
Harmony giggled at the game and pranced back over to Mamoru, who lay groaning in a heap of twigs and leaves. "You're awfully fun to play with, Mister!"  
  
"Fnnnrrghnugh," Mamoru gurgled eloquently, leaving more blood stains on the ground. He had no idea what he had intended to say to his assailant, but most of it was lost in translation.  
  
"You're awful silly, too, Mister!" A quick underhand slash scooped the prince up, nearly sliching his shirt (and his back) to shreds, and tossed him face-first into another tree trunk. There was a quiet crunch as Mamoru's nose hit the tree-trunk, leaving yet another smattering of blood. He managed to turn around just in time to see Harmony rushing at him, bloodied Glaive headed straight for his chest.  
  
"Been nice knowin' yah, Prince," Sanura called from across the playground. "Well, okay, not really!"   
  
//Last chance, Mamoru,// the voice drawled as the little girl drew closer and closer, razor-sharp blade headed straight for his heart. //I assure you, this will cause more pain to those you love.//  
  
Mamoru said nothing. He closed his eyes and waited.  
  
"Goodbye," Harmony said quietly, as her feet ground to a halt. There was the sound of metal cutting flesh; then, louder than anyone could have predicted, a scream of pain that shook every last leaf on the tree, every piece of playground equipment that was not firmly nailed to the ground.  
  
--------  
  
What's that, you say? That was the most terrible, awful ending in the entire world? Fear not, dear lambs, this is far from the end.  
  
But the first person who says "HURRY UP WITH CHAPTER 5! MORE MORE MORE MORE" gets hit with a stick. In fact, that is more likely to make us go SLOWER, not faster. We are busy college students, and we DID write this 32 page chapter in a span of three weeks. Read that again - 32 pages in three weeks. Some fanfics stay untouched for a year or more. Please keep that in mind while reviewing.   
  
Also, please send all angry cliffhanger-related flames care of The White House, District of Columbia, United States. Thank you.  
  
~Spirit-hime and AngelAnne 


	5. Chapter 5

Bleed (Just to Know You're Alive)  
  
Chapter 5  
  
//anything between slashes are thoughts//  
  
Disclaimer: Anything you read into Mamoru and Malachi's relationship is purely your own fault, as a reader and interpreter. You hear us? YOUR fault. Not ours. We assume no responsibility for what dirty things go on in YOUR minds.  
  
Real Disclaimer: We've decided, in all fairness, to up the rating on this fic. Between those two and their ... antics, and all the battle gore, it's probably appropriate.  
  
------  
  
The scream of excruciating pain faded, but the echoes continued to reverberate long after their source had died out, shivering throughout the playground equipment like the chords of a song.  
  
A single drop of blood trickled down the blade of the Glaive. And then it was not one drop, but many, soaking the clean metal in a wash of dark crimson that ran down onto the grass.  
  
"Idiot," Kunzite softly growled between struggled breaths. "Why weren't you fighting back?"  
  
Mamoru's eyes snapped open in shock. Kunzite? But how...?  
  
"Kunzite, how did you get here?" he asked, a tiny trickle of blood escaping onto his lips.   
  
"Not everyone is as hopeless at teleporting as you, Prince," Kunzite wheezed.  
  
Harmony squacked in surprise, yanking her Glaive back out of the intruding body. Kunzite yelped at the pain, clutching his giant horizontal wound. It did very little good; every second, pint upon pint of blood poured out and soaked his white uniform.   
  
Kunzite slumped to his prince's feet, unable to stay standing. "You can't just die, Prince! Not after all you went through to bring us back!"  
  
//Finally, someone with sense!// the voice in Mamoru's head cried. //What are you waiting for? Transform already! The longer you wait, the less time Kunzite has to live!//  
  
Mamoru was paralyzed. He wanted to help his friend, knew that it was urgent, but somehow he could no more make his body obey him than flap his arms and start flying. Only one thought kept rolling through his mind, like the skipping on a scratched CD. //What have I done...//  
  
"Kunzite!" Someone shouted, and suddenly Zoisite moved into his line of sight, kneeling down next to the white-haired man, who was growing more and more pale by the second. Two other figures appeared in Mamoru's blurred vision, standing between him and Harmony.  
  
"Ready for this, Jadeite?" Nephrite smirked over at his friend.  
  
"Damn right I am," Jadeite replied as an aura of blue energy began to glow around his hand.  
  
//Do you see what's happening here?// The strange voice echoed around in Mamoru's head. //If you won't fight to save yourself, they will! Malachi is dying for you, Mamoru, and the others will too if you don't do something!//  
  
Without any of the necessary sparkles and happy fluff that are considered for a normal attack, Jadeite thrust his hand forward. Within a split-second, a dragon made purely of water exploded from his palm, sending Harmony squealing onto her little lacey rearend.  
  
"That's a cool trick," he commented, almost in awe. He turned his hand over and over. "Could I do that before?"  
  
//Mamoru! Hurry the hell up; Kunzite only has maybe five minutes of life left! You, as a doctor of all people, should know that!//  
  
The liquid oriental dragon slithered through the air like a snake, droplets of rain falling from its hide. Harmony screamed and curled into a ball on the ground as the creature soared over her a second time, sending a spray of burning rain upon her. Jadeite reached out and allowed a few droplets to spill into his hand. Funny, it didn't feel any different than normal rain. With a cheerful twirl of its tail, the dragon sent a few final splatters in the little girl's direction before vanishing completely.  
  
"Shit." Saruna remarked, stamping out her cigarette in the sand. "Thought we was s'pposed ta be executin' princes tonight, not dodgin' fireworks."  
  
"Hang on Kunzite," Zoisite whispered, making a futile effort to stop the bleeding. The larger man lay half-conscious in his arms, every breath sounding labored and painful.  
  
//It's not that bloody difficult! Golden Crystal pops up, Golden Crystal makes everything go all shiny, Golden Crystal magically heals fatal wound, and voila! Best friend no longer dying.//  
  
//You seem to forget,// Mamoru snapped, //that I myself am not in the best condition right now! Don't you think I want to help him? But God help me, I can't even move my arm to wipe the blood from my face!//  
  
//Since when are HANDS necessary to manipulate your Crystal, idiot?//  
  
Okay, so Mysterious Voice had a point. With whatever constituted concentration in his current mangled state, Mamoru focused on the warm weight in his chest. It had to be in there somewhere.  
  
Slowly at first, spreading from his feet, a golden glow came over him. He hissed briefly as the pure light attempted to heal his various wounds; as his bloodied clothes were replaced by a crisp tuxedo, he wondered if it was enough to stop his internal bleeding, as well.  
  
//At the very least, I'll live long enough to save Kunzite,// he thought. Bending down to take stock of his friend proved very difficult, as his knees creaked painfully beneath him.  
  
Things were not much better once he had come to the ground level. Kunzite's wound spread over most of his torso, width-wise, but didn't appear to have gone all the way through or injured his spinal cord. There was, perhaps, still hope.  
  
The white-haired man peered his prince through glassy, unseeing eyes. Everything in front of him - Mamoru, Zoisite, the tree - had converged into one blob of hideous colors; no facial features were discernable out of the mess.   
  
Zoisite cast a worried glance up at Mamoru, who looked like he was only in minimally better shape than Kunzite, though the many gashes, scrapes, and bruises scattered across his face seemed to be healing rapidly. His focus immediately returned to the man in his arms, however, whose lips were moving as though he were trying to speak through his ragged breaths. Mamoru reassuringly laid a golden hand on his friend's forehead, and Kunzite immedately became still, knowing that his Prince was still there with him, even if he could no longer see him.  
  
Mamoru held his other hand just above the gaping hole in Kunzite's chest. Normally he needed direct contact with a wound to heal it, but he was not sure it would be such a good idea to be sticking his hand in Kunzite's chest cavity, for a multitude of reasons. Hopefully, if he was strong enough to heal something like this in his more powerful state, he would be strong enough to work through the extra few atoms of space between them.  
  
Nephrite raised an eyebrow at Jadeite. "Okay, if you can make giant water dragons, what can I do?"  
  
Jadeite shrugged. "I dunno, gerbils perhaps?"  
  
"I sure hope not," Nephrite muttered. Experimentally, he held out his hand, in the hopes that some flaming rodent was not going to pop out and accidentally devour him.  
  
At first, nothing happened. But slowly, and then with increasing speed, a wind picked up. From behind him - or within him, no one was sure - an ethereal tiger shape appeared, bringing with it enormous gusts of air.  
  
With no warning, the tiger lept foward, plowing into Sanura with the force of an oncoming train. She hit the sand roughly and was flipped up and slammed down by the winds for more than ten feet, finally slamming into a jungle gym.  
  
"...Wow." Nephrite inspected his hand, wondering where exactly that had come from. "Okay, that's a whole lot better than a gerbil."  
  
His thoughts were interrupted when an incredibly bright light flooded the playground, overpowering the weak streetlights and nearly blinding all of them. Mamoru had finally worked past his injuries enough to properly heal Kunzite, and was doing so with every drop of power he had. Zoisite fought to stay kneeling where he was, but being so close to Mamoru while he used so much power was like standing in the midst of a hurricane without so much as a windbreaker. It was all he could do to close his eyes and hang onto Kunzite.  
  
"You...you're mean!" Harmony whined, standing up with her Glaive as her major support. "You hurt a little girl!"  
  
"Yeah, and you just tried to gore my prince. All things considered, I think we're on an even playing field," Jadeite snapped back. The little girl lunged for him, attempting to slice his head off at the neck, but the blonde man ducked. He swung out his leg, swiping Harmony's out from underneath her and sending her flat on her back. She blasted him with purple energy, and he went sailing, landing upside down in a boat-shaped play structure.   
  
Her moment of triumph was short-lived, however.  
  
"Naughty children like you shouldn't be let out of the house." With very little remorse, Nephrite punched the little girl in the jaw just as she turned to face him. She butted him in the head with the blunt end of her Glaive, but he didn't seem phased in the slightest.  
  
Kunzite's vision slowly began to clear, and he opened his eyes, watching the golden being kneeling above him healing his wounds. Though it was difficult to look directly at Mamoru without being completely blinded, he could still make out the worried expression on his Prince's face. "Stop looking so guilty, Prince. I'm not dead yet."  
  
Mamoru smiled wanly as the last layer of skin grew back. //You were pretty damn close, though.// He did not say it, though. He would rather not say how close he was to losing the friend who had returned to him mere hours ago.  
  
As Nephrite busied himself with fighting the deliquent child, Sanura quietly made her way to the occupied Prince. She was sent here to kill him, and dammit, she would do it whether these frat boys got in the way or not. "Chronos Typhoon!"  
  
"Prince! Watch out!" Jadeite shouted, scrambling out of the piece of playground equipment.  
  
Without even thinking, Mamoru turned and held his hand out. The typhoon rushed at him, but before it could begin to pummel him as it should have done, it seemed to get sucked up into his hand like a vacuum. Eventually, all that remained was a compact orb about the size of a billiard ball, resting in his palm. Surprised, Mamoru inspected the ball of typhoon in his hand. Swirls of grey and burgendy danced within it, restless with so much energy crammed into such a tiny space. "Now that's interesting."  
  
"He..." Jadeite floundered, staring in awe.  
  
"...caught it," Zoisite finished for him.  
  
"Shit!" Out of other options, Sanura swung her Time Key like a baseball bat, hoping to come in contact with someone - anyone. Mamoru didn't flinch - he simply held up his arm to block the oncoming rod. The metal bounced off his arm as though it was rubber; frustrated, Sanura raised the Key and tried again. And again. And again.  
  
Mamoru went back to distractedly watching the little orb in his hand, while his other arm continued to block oncoming attacks from Sanura. He'd have to tell Setsuna that her attacks really made lovely er... paperweights. He idly wondered what the other Sailor Senshi's attacks would look like in this form, and nearly snickered at the thought of someone having a ball of Death Reborn Revolution sitting on their desk.  
  
Sanura let out a curse of frustration, and, sighing, his focus returned to her. He really did not feel like fighting right now.  
  
The mohawked senshi took yet another swing at him, but he neatly dodged out of the way. She stumbled, not expecting to hit only air, and he swung his hand around and slammed the ball of Chronos Typhoon into her stomach. The orb exploded on impact, sending Saruna flying across the playground.  
  
"Hey, you think you could do that at frat parties?" Jadeite asked, but was promptly punched on the thigh by Zoisite. "Ow! It was just a suggestion!"  
  
"Prince?" Kunzite said groggily, his mouth dry and seemingly weighed down with marbles. His uniform was still covered in half-dried blood, but no more was forthcoming. Mamoru had healed him.  
  
"What gave you the brilliant idea to die for me?" Mamoru asked, helping his friend sit up, with some assistance from Zoisite.  
  
"I'm not dead! I feel fine! I think I'll go for a walk!"  
  
"When you start quoting Monty Python, that's definitely not a good sign." Zoisite smiled, putting an arm behind his back to keep him sitting upright.  
  
Mamoru did not find this overly amusing (mostly because he was not familiar with British comedy, being from Japan and all). "You need to take it easy, Kunzite. You lost a lot of blood."  
  
"Uh, I hate to interrupt you and all Prince, but I think we've got a problem here!" shouted Jadeite. He and Nephrite had been holding off the two clones easily enough, but the task immediately became much more difficult when a third enemy decided to join in.  
  
"You... you bastard!" Hasana screamed at Mamoru from across the playground, her voice nearly breaking with sobs. "You'll pay for what you did to my dear sweet love!"  
  
//"Dear sweet love?" Oh, how Haruka would laugh if she heard that...// "You'll have to excuse me, guys. I think I need to help them out." Mamoru carefully transferred Kunzite into Zoisite's lap, getting to his feet. "Apparently, she's not very happy with me."  
  
"Fucking right I'm not happy with you!" Hasana screamed. "How could you? How could you do that to me?!"  
  
"Well, it was either her or me. All things considered? I'm a self-preservationist." //...Some of the time.//  
  
"World Shaking!" The golden orb rumbled toward Mamoru's feet, but one sharp kick, and its trajectory was immediately reversed. Hasana moved to the side, barely missing her own attack as it bent one of the streetlamps in half.  
  
Hasana made a juvenile noise of rage and frustration. "Stop doing that!"  
  
"I'm sorry, should I hold still next time?"  
  
"Yes, dammit!"  
  
"The Prince is certainly into teasing his enemies, isn't he?" Zoisite muttered, keeping a firm grip on Kunzite.  
  
Kunzite smiled wryly, watching Mamoru bounce another attack back in Hasana's direction. "Can you blame him?"  
  
With a burst of very Haruka-like speed, Hasana crossed the playground in less than five seconds, Space Sword waving over her head. Mamoru gave no indication that he intended to move; indeed, he planted his feet and waited.  
  
"Die, you heartless bastard," Hasana hissed, shoving the sword right through Mamoru's stomach.  
  
"Prince!" Kunzite tried to get to his feet, but he was pushed firmly to the ground by Zoisite. "Zoisite, what the hell are you doing? We have to--"  
  
Mamoru looked down at the glowing sword that had run him clean through. Blood started to seep out, but immediately stopped. He looked up at the blonde girl with an unusually evil smirk.  
  
"And what did you intend to do after stabbing me?" he asked calmly, pulling the sword back out with very little effort.   
  
Hasana gaped, mouth opening and closing like a fish in open air. She stumbled backwards, Mamoru keeping up with her every step.  
  
"Don't get your knickers in a knot, Kunzite," Zoisite said, smiling a little. "I think he knows what he's doing now."  
  
"How about you go join your lover?" Mamoru asked viciously, grabbing Hasana by the collar. The blonde whimpered and tried to pry his hand away, but his grip was like a steel vice. "Tuxedo Mirage!" Without so much as a scream, Hasana vanished into dust before him.  
  
Brushing Hasana dust off his hands, Mamoru turned to face the other two adversaries, who had watched the scene from the edge of the playground, by the jungle gym. Harmony cowered behind the other woman, hiding her face from the scary glowing guy. "Don't let him hurt me, Sanura-mama!" Sanura tried her best to look brave, but was shaking just as much as the little girl behind her.  
  
"You know, five minutes ago, I was perfectly willing to let you kick the shit out of me," Mamoru drawled, watching the two senshi as a cat does a cornered mouse. "But then you made the fatal mistake of injuring my friend."  
  
"Emphasis on fatal," he added mildly.   
  
Harmony squeaked and clung to Sanura's legs, nearly knocking the woman over. "Getcher damn hands off me, brat!" She shouted, trying to pry the child off of her. "I'm not gonna be yer bloody shield jus' cuz you screwed up!"  
  
"But he'll hurt me, Sanura-mama!"  
  
"Well that's just too damn bad." She took ahold of Harmony's shoulder and shoved her towards Mamoru. The child squealed in fear when she realized how close she was to the big scary guy, and in her struggles to get away, her feet slipped in the sand and sent her falling onto her frilly rear end.  
  
"Clean up your own mess, ya whelp," Sanura growled, and promptly vanished.  
  
"But... but..." Harmony stared helplessly at the place where the biker woman no longer stood. When it finally began to register that her adopted mother was not going to come back and help her, the little girl began to wail. "Sanura-mama, wait for me!" Grabbing her Glaive out of the sand, she cast a tearful glance up at Mamoru. "I'm gonna get you, you big meanie!" Sobbing, she vanished.  
  
The light surrounding Mamoru faded, taking his tuxedo with it. Reverting back to his normal form brought with it all kinds of pain, as the half-healed wounds covering his body once again made their presence known. His vision dipped into blackness as he dropped to his knees, thankful that the sand beneath him was so soft.  
  
The three more healthy Shitennou were at his side in seconds, Kunzite limping along after them as best he could.  
  
"Prince, are you okay?" Jadeite asked urgently, catching his prince before he could faceplant. It sounded like a stupid question, but not two seconds before, he had been glowingly vaporizing things left and right. Now, he looked as though he could not have vaporized a piece of paper with a match.  
  
"I've been better," Mamoru wheezed, leaning on the blonde's arm as though it was a lifeline. His lung had probably been punctured; his transformation had bought him time, but he was practically a walking dead man. At least, with the spurt of power, he'd managed to keep Kunzite's attempted sacrifice from coming to completion. Now he could die with the satisfaction of at least doing one thing right.  
  
He was taken by a painful coughing fit that shook his whole body, and when he took his hand away from his mouth it was wet with blood. "That doesn't look healthy," Nephrite muttered worriedly.  
  
Kunzite, who had finally caught up with the other three, knelt in front of his Prince. "Funny how you could find all that power to save me, but you can't be bothered to do the same for yourself."  
  
Mamoru looked up at him, his breaths coming in struggled gasps as his lungs tried desperately to hold onto any oxygen they could get. "I... I'm tired..." he began to say.  
  
"Don't you fucking lie to me! Do you think I don't know what you were doing out here? I suppose you don't need to bother slashing your wrists when you've got enemies to do the job for you!"  
  
Everyone was stunned into silence.  
  
"I should have known you'd pull something stupid. I should have known!" Kunzite slammed his fist into the sand. "God, why did I even let you out of my sight?"  
  
"Oh, not you, too," Mamoru spat, looking up at Kunzite in disgust. "First the Senshi, and now this. Does everybody think I'm useless in a fight?"  
  
"When you nearly let a goth girl with pigtails spear you like sesame dango, I do!"  
  
"You have to admit, Prince," Zoisite cut in, "all this seems a little excessive. The princess isn't dead, just angry. Give her some time to cool off, and--"  
  
"Oh, so suddenly you're an expert at relationships?"  
  
"Hey, I didn't say that!" Zoisite countered. "But you take things harder than anyone I know! You used to go on a hunger strike if a letter from Serenity was one day late!"  
  
Mamoru did not have much to say to this, mostly because he had begun to cough again.  
  
"Prince, you can't be reviving dead guardians and then run off to die on them," Jadeite said softly. "It doesn't work like that."  
  
It finally dawned on Mamoru that he had failed to take into account what his death would mean to the Shitennou. He had been so busy hating himself that he had simply assumed that the rest of the world hated him too. It had never occured to him that maybe the people who had waited two long years to be with him again might not be overly pleased to lose him just as quickly.  
  
If there was ever a time for an "oops," this would have been it.  
  
//Okay. I'm dying from internal bleeding, which is bad. Stopping it would be good. Going about that is the tricky part.// His skin began to take on that familiar golden glow. //Do I have enough strength left to heal myself?//  
  
Nephrite put his hand on Mamoru's shoulder; the light touch surprised him.  
  
"You probably wiped yourself healing Kunzite, and destroying the clone. The least we can do is contribute a little," Nephrite explained. Zoisite followed suit on Mamoru's other shoulder, and Jadeite just continued to hold him up. The glow quickly became stronger, and Mamoru's smaller cuts patched themselves within seconds.  
  
Kunzite reached out his hand to help, but Mamoru shook his head and feebly held out his own to stop it.  
  
"You're still healing yourself, Kunzite," he said. "Just take it easy."  
  
Kunzite was about to protest, but stopped himself. He was having enough difficulty with tasks like standing without giving up more of his energy to heal someone. Still, he watched Mamoru closely, ready to help if needed.  
  
Gradually, as the glowing took effect on his more serious injuries, Mamoru's breathing became easier. When he was fairly certain that his lung was not going to collapse and that he was not going to bleed to death, he sat up straighter, allowing the glow to fade. "Thanks, guys. I think I'll be alright now."  
  
"We're not letting you go anywhere yet, Prince," said Zoisite, giving Mamoru a gentle hug.  
  
"At least not until we've taken you to the bar," Nephrite ammended.  
  
"And how long has it been since you talked about booze?" Kunzite asked, nudging Nephrite lightly on the shoulder.  
  
"Hey, that's not all I talk about! Sometimes I talk about coeds."  
  
This earned him a half-hearted groan from everyone present.  
  
"What?" Nephrite asked, feigning innocence. "I didn't say 'I talk about naked coeds,' did I?"  
  
Jadeite smirked. "But you were thinking it."  
  
"Hey, there's no harm in that!"  
  
"You thinking is a very dangerous thing," Zoisite said dryly, earning a swat on the arm.  
  
Mamoru watched Kunzite warily, feeling very much like a naughty schoolboy who was sitting outside the principal's office, awaiting punishment. "You're still mad at me, aren't you?"  
  
Kunzite glanced up at him and sighed. "How can I not be?"  
  
"Would it help if I said I was an idiot?" he tried lamely.   
  
Kunzite sighed again. "You're not an idiot, Mamoru. You just let your love for the princess get in the way of clear, levelheaded thinking. That girl's got you wrapped around all ten fingers, and it isn't as though I don't respect that. But you HAVE to put things in perspective from time to time."  
  
He smiled a little. "Can you promise me that, at least? I know I can't watch you every second, much as I'd like to, so this will have to do."  
  
Mamoru smirked half-heartedly. "Only if you promise not to jump in front of me every time I'm about to be gored by a Silence Glaive."  
  
Kunzite snickered. "I dunno, at the rate you're going, you're going to need a human shield every ten minutes." Mamoru gave him a punch on the arm for the remark. Though it was not much harder than a feeble swat, Kunzite still clutched his arm in mock pain. "Ow! Hey, have a little sympathy for the injured here."   
  
"We should start heading back," Nephrite said, glancing up at the pitch-black sky. "It's getting pretty late."  
  
Zoisite nodded. "We'd better teleport these two back to Malachi's room. We can't expect them to walk in their condition."  
  
"Hey, unlike some people, I didn't have any organs punctured by stillettos!" Kunzite rose to his feet. "See, there's nothing wrong with--"  
  
Unfortunately, his valiant effort at proving his friends wrong was shattered when, not three seconds later, he fell face-first into the sand.  
  
Mamoru gave him a worried look as he sat up, but he spat out sand good-naturedly. "Okay, fine, we teleport."  
  
"Stubborn idiot." Nephrite got to his feet, offering his friend a hand. Kunzite accepted it gratefully, getting to his feet with much more caution the second time around.  
  
"Wait a minute," Mamoru said, getting his own lift from Jadeite. "How'd you know about the stiletto?"  
  
"Yes, Kunzite. Want to explain that one?" Zoisite said, smiling prettily.  
  
"Uh, it's simple." Kunzite cleared his throat. "It was my ... Mam-O-Meter."  
  
There was silence for a moment.  
  
"That is the most absurd thing I've ever heard, but you know, I'm not in the mood to argue with you about it," Mamoru sighed, a long-suffering smile on his face.  
  
"Yes, Kunzite, I'm sure you can explain the details when we aren't standing around in a public place in the middle of the night wearing flashy white uniforms with capes," Zoisite said with a snicker as he moved to the other side of Mamoru and put his arm around him, helping to hold him up.  
  
Kunzite coughed sheepishly. "Yeah, okay. See you guys at home."  
  
Suddenly the playground faded from Mamoru's vision, and the familiar cold wind that always seems to accompany teleportation rushed across his face. It ended just as abruptly as it began, and he soon found himself blinking in the soft light of Malachi's bedroom--although not precisely in the place he would have expected.  
  
"Jadeite!" Zoisite shouted, reaching behind Mamoru to punch the blonde in the shoulder. "You did that on purpose!"  
  
"I have no idea what you're talking about, Zoisite," he said innocently, though his amusement was still evident on his face.   
  
"Only you would think to pull something like this," Zoisite huffed, beckoning at the desk at his feet, for indeed they had been teleported into Malachi's bedroom, and wound up standing on top of his desk.  
  
"Oh, come on. At least we didn't end up in the toilet." Jadeite used the nearby chair to climb off the table. Zoisite and Nephrite simply jumped from the height, but Mamoru and Kunzite required a little more assistance.  
  
Nephrite chuckled. "That would have been terribly hard to explain to the drunken pledges spending their evening with our porcelain lady."  
  
"They'd probably assume it was a booze-induced hallucination and never know the difference. I know I've seen some interesting stuff..." Jadeite shuddered. "The green kittens still haunt me."  
  
With some help from Nephrite, Kunzite began to move towards the couch. "Hold on Kunzite," Mamoru said, stopping him. "I'm not taking your bed from you. I'll sleep on the couch."  
  
Kunzite gave him a weary smile. "I'm not going to argue with you, Prince. You're sleeping in the bed, and that's final."  
  
"No I'm not. Listen, it's your bed and you're injured--"  
  
"And so are you. Besides, this is my bedroom and I'll sleep wherever the hell I want."  
  
"If it's that much of an issue, why don't you share the bed?" chirped Jadeite.   
  
There was a long pause, and everyone turned to stare at the blonde. "Just a thought?"  
  
"You know, Jed, I think we ought to leave before you get hurt." Nephrite's uniform faded away into his casual clothes, leaving normal ol' Neff in his place. "Not that I'm particularly concerned; you've got a head like a big hollow ... uh, something."  
  
"Neff, your wit astounds me." Zory rolled his eyes, pushing both men out of the room gently. "Come on, let's go get drunk or whatever other manly things we're expected to do now."  
  
"You're about as manly as eyeliner, ZorOW!" Jed rubbed his heel. "You fight like a girl, too."  
  
"Considering the girls we've encountered lately, I'll take that as a compliment." The door to Malachi's room closed, leaving both men alone again.  
  
"Sadly, I think I've missed this," Mamoru said, idly rubbing at his chest. There was still a dull ache from having sharp boots come in contact with squishy internal bits.  
  
Sighing, he sank down onto the bed.  
  
"Gave up on arguing with me?" Malachi asked, unfolding an extra blanket for himself.  
  
"No, but I don't think I can make it across the room to the couch."  
  
He snickered as he crossed the room to switch the light off. "I suppose I should be thankful for being saved from your wrath."  
  
"Hey, I could wrestle you off that couch if I wanted to. When I'm not recovering from being beaten up by biker girls, that is."  
  
Both men fell into silence as they crawled into their respective beds and lay in the darkness, gazing up at the ceiling as the events of their very long day rolled through their minds.  
  
"Okay, I have to know," Mamoru said after a moment. "What the heck is your Mam-O-Meter?"  
  
Malachi sighed. "It's like...I'm not sure, really. I could feel that you were upset at first, but I thought you were still in the room. And then suddenly, I was pouring myself a cup of coffee, and instead of seeing Zory reading the newspaper, I saw a heel coming down on your chest and blood spraying everywhere. Which, I might add, did not help my appetite any."  
  
"Gee, I'm terribly sorry for that," Mamoru snapped.   
  
"I didn't mean--"  
  
The black-haired prince thumped the bed out of frustration. "I'm sorry, that was childish of me. It's been a long day."   
  
"Tell me about it."  
  
"So do you always know when something's wrong with me?"  
  
Malachi sighed again. "It's not really as straightforward as that. Usually it's just some abstract feeling that I can't explain, like suddenly feeling sad for no reason. But sometimes when you're badly hurt or seriously distressed... I dunno, sometimes I get a vision of what's happening to you, or I start having sharp pains wherever you're hurt. I don't know how it happens, none of the others seem to be able to sense things about you the way I do, and I haven't been able to turn it on and off at will. But I've always been able to do it, even when I was in that stone."  
  
"No one except Usako has ever been able to understand me like that."  
  
"I guess I'm just special," Malachi chuckled. "Not that I'm particularly complaining, mind you. Being in league with the princess is definitely a compliment."  
  
"Yeah, if she didn't hate me."  
  
"Oh, don't start with that, Prince. You have no idea that, for a fact, she hates you."  
  
Mamoru snorted. "Oh, so when she says she was wrong to trust me all this time, that's not a big fucking clue?"  
  
"If I'm of correct understanding, she gets jealous when you happen to be looking in the vicinity of someone who might have boobs. So no, that's NOT a big fucking clue."  
  
"Most of the time, they don't whisper sexually-charged phrases in my phone!"  
  
"Please don't get angry, Prince. All I'm saying is that she tends to overreact sometimes, as do you. Not to mention that from her end of the phone, things must have looked pretty bad, what with all the misunderstandings. But that's just what they are--misunderstandings. If the Princess is anything like I remember, then when she learns the truth about what's been happening, she'll not only forgive you, but she'll feel horrible about what she said and dote on you for weeks."  
  
"As much as I want that to be true, I'm not so sure I deserve it."  
  
"Prince," Malachi rolled onto his side and leaned his head in his hand, peering at Mamoru through the darkness, "why are you so hard on yourself? Yes, your Usako is the Princess of the Moon, the all-powerful holder of the greatest crystal in the universe. But here's a newsflash--you're the freaking Prince of the Earth. You're not half as expendible as you'd like to think you are, my friend. I know you've got this thing with thinking that the only reason anyone puts up with you is because of all that destiny crap, but I'll have you know that there are people in this house who would tell you otherwise."  
  
"I know. I know you guys care about me." Mamoru sighed. "But you know what it feels like to be without memories, Malachi. To have no idea who you are, why you're where you are, and what you're doing with your life. That's a lot for a six-year-old to handle on their own. At least you had the other Shitennou with you; for eleven years of my life, the only person I could depend on was myself. When you're that young, it's hardly an exciting prospect, especially when you're not even sure your name is really Chiba Mamoru."  
  
He paused. "I just...got fed up with myself, after awhile. Why did I survive that crash, when my parents died? What was my purpose for being here? At the time, I had no idea about the Silver Millenium, Sailor Moon, any of that, save for a recurring dream about a mysterious princess; I didn't remember the Golden Crystal, Elysian, or you. And as time went by, I guess I just couldn't figure out what was so special about me, that I got to spend the rest of my life with textbooks for company."  
  
"But what about Usagi? She's not a textbook; surely she's given you a little bit of self-confidence."  
  
"You'd think, wouldn't you? But most of the time, I've got nothing to be self-confident about. The other Senshi treat me as though I'm as much of a threat as Galaxia; they're always waiting for me to mess up, so they can say, 'see, Usagi, we were right about him all along!'" Mamoru snorted. "Sometime, I get the feeling that the only reason they don't off me is because they'd rather not have the wrath of Setsuna-san on their heads when Crystal Tokyo ceases to exist."  
  
"You're exaggerating, Prince. They can't still be treating you that way after two years of fighting side-by-side with you."  
  
"I thought so, too, but that was before I started getting death threats from them when I moved here. I swear, they think I'm more dangerous outside of the country than when I'm in Tokyo where they can keep an eye on me."  
  
Malachi smiled. "Yes, I'm sure there's a high-risk factor with what you could do with your cellphone."  
  
Mamoru laughed softly, but to Malachi it sounded a little forced. "After what happened today, I think you're probably right. I guess you might say that Usako was the only good thing that's happened to me in a long time, so I get so afraid that something will make me lose her again, and I'll just go back to being some guy with no name and no past who no one really cares about. I've spent so many years with nothing, and now that she's in my life, I flinch every time I think something will happen. But even as much as I adore her being there, I can't help but think that I am still just nothing, and I've done nothing to deserve someone as wonderful as her."  
  
"Prince, it's all well and good to think so highly of Usagi, but you can't treat her as though she's the only thing that makes your life worth living. As soon as you give that kind of power to a person, you're setting yourself for major stress when some miniscule thing comes along and rocks the boat. Not that I really need to tell you about that, today being adequately considered."  
  
"Yes, stab knife, then twist," Mamoru muttered to himself. Yes, he was perfectly aware that he'd been stupid. Harping on it wasn't going to solve the problem any faster.  
  
"I'm just trying to help you," Malachi said, sounding a little hurt. "I don't mean to continually shove this in your face, but Prince, sometimes you're more of a danger to yourself than these clones. Honestly, do you think there's anything about you that's worth liking, if Usagi isn't taken into consideration?"  
  
"Um...well, there's...I'm smart?"  
  
"I think you can do a little better than that."  
  
"I don't know, Malachi. To tell you the truth, I've never been able to figure out why Usako--or anyone else, for that matter--ever gave me a second glance. Okay, people looked up to me in high school because I got good grades and did well in sports. Big deal; I excelled at everything I did because I had nothing better to spend my time doing. That doesn't make me special, that just means I have no life."  
  
"You really sell yourself short, Prince. If you weren't so busy putting yourself down, maybe you'd notice that you're an exceptional person."  
  
"You sound like a guidance counselor."  
  
"Yeah, okay, but maybe if you'd paid them a visit as a kid, we wouldn't need to be having this conversation. Prince, you were a stranger to me two days ago. But in those first few minutes of conversation between us, I found you to be an intelligent, witty, charismatic individual, and that was only a first impression. You seem to forget, Prince, that I sought to get to know you long before I had any idea of who you really were, not because I'm an exceptionally nice person who befriends every guy who happens to collapse in front of me, but because I really did find myself liking you. And today, what with having my memories and all, I can tell you, as someone who knows you better than just about anyone, that you have a whole list of virtues that I can't even begin to cover."  
  
There was silence for a moment, as the black-haired man let that sink in.  
  
"You really think so?"  
  
"Would I lie to you?"  
  
"No, I suppose you wouldn't." A pause. "Thank you."  
  
"No thanking necessary. Prince, with or without the princess, you're an amazing person, and I'm honored to be your guardian. Never forget that. I will always care about you, and I know I speak for the other Shitennou when I say that."  
  
"I think thanking is plenty necessary. I'd have to be pretty damn special to earn friends like you."  
  
"We've always thought the same thing about you."  
  
"Gosh, Malachi, you sure know how to make a guy blush."  
  
"Oh, please, don't start with that. I'm going to get enough teasing in here for that as it is. Feeling any better about your life situation now?"  
  
Mamoru chuckled, a little less forced this time. "Marginally. If you mean that I don't want to lock myself in the bathroom and slit my wrists, you'd be correct. If you mean that I've suddenly come to the conclusion that I am an amazing, wonderful person and I've suddenly gained the eleven years of self-confidence I've been lacking, I'd say I've got a ways to go."  
  
"I'll settle for you deciding that suicide isn't the answer."  
  
"What was that about teasing?"  
  
"...Nothing. Never mind. I didn't mention it."  
  
They fell into a comfortable sort of silence, broken only by the occasional thump or shout of the frat boys living in the floors above them.   
  
"Malachi?"  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"I never asked you. Today, after you um... became Kunzite again, did you... well, remember everything?"  
  
Malachi closed his eyes, not wanting to recall the events of that afternoon. "Pretty much everything, yes. We're all still sorting through everything in our minds, but it is there."  
  
Mamoru noticed the edge that had crept into his friend's voice, and suspected he was treading into dangerous territory. "Funny, there's so many things I can't remember, even now," he said, steering the conversation away from whatever was bothering Malachi. "Here I had this whole other lifetime, but I can barely recall more than a few moments of it."  
  
"What's in the past is better left in the past, Prince."  
  
"Not when you grew up without a past, it isn't. There's these times when something reminds me of something else, but as soon as I try to remember it, it's gone. I hate living like that, feeling like there's something I lost, but having no idea how to find it again." He paused thoughtfully for a moment. "What kinds of things do you remember about the Silver Millenium?" He was sure to emphasize the last two words, carefully skipping over certain other topics.  
  
"Must you insist on having these conversations late at night, Prince?"  
  
"Please, Malachi? Just tell me one good memory, and I promise I'll shut up and let you sleep."  
  
The white-haired man sat there for a moment, considering. "It was your fifteenth birthday, if I'm not mistaken. The morning festivities had ended, and we'd all snuck away from the palace guards to be off in the gardens - much to my chagrin, I'll have you know. And we must have been out there all morning, talking like the awful little teenagers we were. We must have been there all day, or at least until sunset. The other Shitennou and I had opted to give our gifts to you in private, to avoid all the stuffy nonsense of nobles 'oohing and aahing' and applauding every five damn seconds.  
  
"Nephrite had teased Zoisite mercilessly when he'd found out that his gift was going to be a mirror, but he definitely stopped laughing after he gave it to you. It was silver, delicately carved with elaborate roses all the way around. I know, what use could you have for a mirror, but Zoisite was thinking ahead. I believe you secretly sent it to Serenity for -her- birthday not long after.  
  
"All of us were curious about what Nephrite got you, because he had been hinting and bragging about it for the past week. He made an elaborate show of giving it to you, and I'm sure Zoisite threatened to hurt him if he didn't hurry up and let you open the damn thing. It turned out to be a first edition of a book you'd wanted. Surprised the heck out of us, Nephrite getting you something so academic, but I suspected he had overheard you telling Zoisite about it. That guy's more sneaky than he lets on sometimes.  
  
"Jadeite... let's see, I believe I remember what he got you. It was a knife, carved all of black jade, with little gold dragons all along the blade. Though small and light, it was stronger than any metal, and even though you were reluctant to use it at first, it soon became more useful to you than your sword, and you carried it with you constantly.   
  
"After such beautiful gifts as those, I was sure that mine wouldn't be enough. It was only a silver pocket watch, the kind with a rotating picture of the moon and sun, so that it shows the moon and stars at night time, and the sun with clouds in the day. Even though I didn't think it was nearly as nice as your other gifts, you still insisted to me that you loved it, and just to prove it you always had it with you, never leaving it behind."  
  
Mamoru swallowed. "You remember all of that?"  
  
"Prince, I could probably tell you what the humidity was outside on that day. I've got more memories now than six normal people combined, and even if they aren't all like that one, they're as crisp as if they happened five minutes ago."  
  
The black-haired man really wanted to say he was envious - the best he could do with memories of the Silver Millenium just involved Serenity, and how much he'd loved her. He didn't remember that birthday, or any of the other ones. He didn't remember much of anything.  
  
But he could not express his envy; he wouldn't have dared. Because, for every memory like that, Malachi--Kunzite--had twenty more that were awful and harrowing and would have sent any average person to a mental institution for the rest of their days. Malachi seemed to be taking it rather well, or so it seemed to Mamoru, and he didn't want to ruin that mental peace.  
  
"Thank you for telling me about that."  
  
"Am I allowed to sleep now, or do you have any more pressing life-long problems that need to be addressed?"  
  
"I think we can give it a rest for tonight," Mamoru replied, smiling into the darkness. "Unless you'd like to hear about how I never got that pet turtle I wanted for Christmas when I was ten."  
  
"Good night, Prince," Malachi sighed, rolling onto his side.  
  
Mamoru closed his eyes, wishing some image of that day that Malachi had described would come to him, but all he saw were the backs of his eyelids. He supposed it didn't matter much anyway--even though he could never recall that wonderful day, he did have his friends back with him now, and maybe sometime they'd be able to have a day like that again. He certainly hope so.  
  
The black-haired prince sighed contentedly. "Good night, Malachi."  
  
------  
  
"GOOD MORNING STANFORD UNI--"   
  
CRASH.  
  
Malachi's alarm clock was no match for a sleep-deprived Prince of Earth in any way, shape, or form.  
  
"...the fuck whuzzat?" Malachi muttered fuzzily, peering out from under a blanket.  
  
"Your alarm."  
  
"Oh. What'd you do to it?"  
  
"I shut it up."  
  
"Oh. Good."  
  
That having been said, both immediately went back to sleep.  
  
Malachi awoke a few hours later, grateful for the opportunity to sleep in. He really should have been in Advanced Minerological Studies right now, but given the circumstances, he was willing to give himself a day off. He rather felt he deserved one, after all.  
  
Mamoru was still slumbering in the bed, his face partially obscured by the covers. Malachi could not help but smile a bit as he quietly rose from the couch. Softly, so as not to wake the sleeping prince, he exited the room, silently closing the door behind him.  
  
"Morning!" Jed pronounced in an achingly chipper way, as he took a sip from his third cup of coffee for the morning.  
  
"I'd like mornings better if they started in the afternoon," Malachi grumbled, going for the coffee pot. "Especially after yesterday."  
  
"How's Mamoru doing?"  
  
"Still out like a light."  
  
"Good. He deserves it." Zory poured about eight tons of cream into his cup, passing the carton to Malachi when he was finished. "What are we going to tell our professors?"  
  
"We've been taking care of Mamoru. It's no lie." Neff took a long swig from his own mug of liquid caffeine.   
  
"All of us? Even he's not that inept."  
  
"So? Our profs don't need to know."  
  
"Neff, he's a -med- student. They'll know."  
  
"And it's a big school. You think they'll all know him? Especially considering he's about as social as a rock?" He paused, considering. "Okay, less social than a rock?"  
  
"Well you've got a point there, I guess."  
  
Their conversation immediately ceased when they heard someone coming down the hallway. "Hello all," drawled a fourth year student as he entered the kitchen. "How is everyone this fine morning?"  
  
"We're just wonderful, thank you! And how are you, Alan?" Chimed Jed. Malachi made a mental note to make him cut down on his caffeine intake, or at least put less than ten scoops of sugar in every cup.  
  
"I'm good. Hey, I heard Malachi came out of the closet. Good for you, man."  
  
Malachi did not answer. He was too busy choking on his coffee.  
  
Alan failed to notice the white-haired man's reaction, and reached for the cream. "So what's this I hear about a new pledge moving in? I thought all the rooms were taken for the semester."  
  
"Mamoru was one of the people who lost his dorm in that fire the other night," Zory said, clapping Malachi on the back. "He'll be sharing Malachi's room until one of the other rooms is free."  
  
"Oh, cool. We're all about school spirit and community and all that stu--hey, Malachi, you okay?"  
  
Malachi nodded feebly, coughing a couple of times. "Came out of the closet?" Oh, God, what was going to happen when they asked Mamoru about it? He'd be mortified if his Prince found out about the rumor.  
  
"Down the wrong way," he croaked, gesturing to the cup.  
  
"Well, I've got English 100 in five. Better jet. More power to you, Malachi! Anyone makes fun of you for it, I'll pop 'em one."  
  
"Thanks." As Alan left the kitchen, the white-haired man proceeded to hit his head against the table repeatedly.  
  
"Hey, no need to go and give yourself a concussion," Neff said, trying to keep from grinning.  
  
Malachi scowled up at him. "You're right. I should give you one instead."  
  
"Don't worry about it, Malachi," said Zory, idly stirring his coffee. "I've been dealing with rumors like that for years. With no help from certain people, I might add." He glared pointedly at Jed.  
  
Jed innocently looked up from dumping more sugar into his mug. "You mean you're not in the middle of a passionate love affair with that male lifeguard?" His question was promptly followed by a cry of pain when Zory kicked him under the table.  
  
"Okay, if it's not that big a deal, you can try explaining to Mamoru how 'coming out of the closet' translates into Japanese."  
  
"Explain what about closets to me?"  
  
Mamoru eyed Malachi curiously as he again began to hit his head on the table. "I missed something, didn't I?"  
  
"You missed it two times, even." Zory took a sip out of his coffee mug. "We were just talking about expanding my closet. I'm running out of space."  
  
"It doesn't help that most of it is full of evening gowns and little black OW!" Jed nearly spilled his coffee in his lap as he clutched his throbbing shin. "Stop that!"  
  
"Stop being such an idiot, then."  
  
"How'd you sleep, Prince?" Neff asked, offering Mamoru an empty seat.  
  
"Alright, thanks. I didn't realize I'd slept so long."  
  
"It probably didn't help that you smashed my alarm clock." Malachi gave him a wry smile.  
  
Mamoru blushed sheepishly. "Sorry about that. I'll get you a new one, I promise."  
  
"Don't worry about it, Prince." He rose to get Mamoru some coffee, giving his black hair a friendly ruffle as he passed. "I go through those things so fast, I need to buy them in bulk."  
  
"Yeah, I understand entirely." Mamoru idly played with the small spoon that was resting in the sugar bowl. "Especially those days when I've got Introduction to Cadavers at 8 AM."  
  
"Ready to face your profs, Mamoru, or are you going to hold off until you've recovered fully?" Neff stood, moving toward the sink to rinse out his mug.  
  
The prince sighed. "I don't know what else I've got in store, as far as these clones go. I could go in to see my teachers, but then I'll have to explain why I'm not fit to be in class when I LOOK healthy enough."  
  
"One of us will go. We'll tell them you're still not feeling well, apologize for you." Malachi returned to the table with a mug for Mamoru; the side said "LEAVE ME ALONE - I'M HAVING A CRISIS."  
  
The black-haired prince blinked at the words. "Gee, that's subtle."  
  
Malachi snickered as he sat down. "I thought it seemed appropriate."  
  
Mamoru took a small scoop of sugar from the old earthenware bowl, and then poured in a little cream. He was already awake; he could indulge. "So who gets to face the wrath of my professors?"  
  
"Well let's see," Zory said, glancing around the table. "Who here DOESN'T have a reputation for skipping class and telling horrible excuses for it?"  
  
"Hey, would you prefer it if I went to class drunk?" Neff asked.  
  
"You mean you haven't?"  
  
"Fine. 'Would you prefer it if I went to class drunk more often?'"  
  
"No. No, I would not."  
  
"Sadly, I think Malachi is the only one of us qualified for the job, unless you want your reputation permanently sullied by the rest of us boozing fratboys." Jed smiled. "Not that you should be particularly worried, living with us and all. I mean, what could possibly go--"  
  
"Stop." Zory held up a hand. "You've seen movies. Whenever anyone says 'what could possibly go wrong,' everything goes wrong."  
  
"What's this about me living with you?" Mamoru took a sip of his coffee, and was profoundly relieved to find that it tasted much better than the sludge at the cafeteria.  
  
"Well, we hardly thought you'd be going back to what's left of your dorm room," Neff remarked.  
  
"Yeah, but stay here? We hadn't really discussed that--"  
  
"We're all decided, Prince," Malachi cut in. "It's not safe for you to be living in those dorms by yourself anyway. Of course, if you don't want to live with us..."  
  
"No, of course I do. I just don't want to be intruding; I'm already taking Malachi's bed and all."  
  
"Now how could you possibly be intruding? We want you here. You know that."  
  
"I--" Mamoru paused. "Oh, why the hell am I arguing with you? It's not like I can go live with that little ... Lunette, and being all alone in a dorm right now would probably not be best for my sanity or my livelihood."  
  
"It's settled. I'll take my couch for the rest of the semester, until we can get you a room." Malachi drained the last sip of coffee from his mug, and went to pour himself some more.  
  
"Hey, I didn't say--"  
  
"I know! Why don't you two share a bed?" Jed waggled his eyebrows. "Everybody wins then, right?"  
  
"You are this close to getting hit, Jed." Malachi threw him a look that left little room for argument. Jed timidly went back to drinking his coffee. "You're probably hungry, aren't you Prince? When's the last time you've eaten anything?"  
  
Mamoru paused. When was the last time he had eaten? Yesterday he had been too busy running from clones. The day before that... well there was that awful coffee in the cafeteria, and the bottle of water Malachi gave him. Those hardly counted as food. And before that? He tried to think, but his mind was drawing a complete blank.  
  
He caught the worried glances of his friends. "I guess I haven't exactly been keeping up on meal times," he said lamely.  
  
"You haven't eaten anything in the last three days." It wasn't a question - Malachi knew.  
  
"Um, if you want to put it that way, yes."  
  
The white-haired man groaned, infinitely weary. "Mamoru, you take worse care of yourself than even these boobs."  
  
"Hey!" Jed looked, mildly wounded, over at Malachi.  
  
"Sorry." Though he wasn't particularly sorry about it. "Prince, you're going to eat something, even if I have to spoon-feed you."  
  
"I bet he'd like some other spooning," Neff muttered, and was kicked under the table by Zory. Unlike his blonde friend, the brunette just smirked as he rubbed his swelling knee.  
  
"It's not as though I've been intentionally starving myself." Mamoru wearily ran his hand through his hair. "I've been so busy fighting these clones, I've hardly had time for anything."  
  
Malachi eyed him critically. "Okay then, what about before that?"  
  
"Well I did have a test to study for." He put his head in his hand. "A test that I wasn't there to take."  
  
"Are you seriously telling me that you were too involved with studying to spend an hour getting at least one decent meal?"  
  
"Lay off him, Malachi. He's already having a hard enough time without you lecturing him about it." Zory put a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. "No wonder you've been fainting so much, Prince."  
  
Jed resignedly stood up. "Alright then, time to make some breakfast."   
  
Neff and Zory immediately followed. "You sit here and enjoy your coffee, Prince," said the blonde, his hand still on Mamoru's shoulder. "We'll have something ready for you in no time."  
  
As if by some unseen signal, all four of the men immediately became busy. Jed fired up the stove, while Zory looked up something in a recipe book. Neff made a disturbingly fast beeline for the knives and began chopping up something or other on the cutting board. Mamoru did not have a clue what they were making, but they seemed to know what they were doing.  
  
Malachi poured the last few drops of coffee into Mamoru's "CRISIS" mug. "I'll make another pot."  
  
"But--You don't have to--I'm just--..." Mamoru tried to get their attention, explain that they didn't need to go all out; he could walk to the cafeteria and get an "omelette." Unfortunately, they showed no signs of stopping.   
  
"Do we have eggs?" Zory eyed the recipe book critically.  
  
Malachi poured coffeegrounds into the machine. "Depends. Did Jed try to make his 'famous' scramble yesterday?"   
  
"Well, the kitchen is still here."  
  
"Ha ha." Jed muttered, digging through the fridge. "Yes, there's eggs."  
  
"Halleluja. Give 'em here before you drop them."  
  
Mamoru sighed, realizing he had no chance of getting their attention now that they were so determined. At least they seemed to be enjoying themselves--when they weren't bickering, that is. //Actually,// he thought as he watched them, //they seem to have the most fun when they're teasing each other.// Everyone seemed to have a rather set idea of what their job was, with Zory carefully giving directions, Jed manning the stove, Neff chopping up everything that could possibly be chopped, and Malachi cleaning up all the messes they made. They maneuvered around each other with an efficiency born of familiarity, only getting in someone's way when they were intentionally trying to get on everyone's nerves.  
  
"Jed, put down that spatu--" Malachi was interrupted when something in his pocket began to beep perklily to the tune of "Alegría."   
  
"...Malachi? Your ass is ringing," Neff pointed out, as the white haired man whipped a small cellphone out of his pocket and tossed it to a surprised Mamoru.  
  
"I thought this thing was dead," he muttered, opening it warily. "Hello?"  
  
"Mamo--"  
  
"What the fuck is wrong with you, Chiba? Where do you think you get off having sex with other girls WHILE YOUR FIANCÉ IS ON THE DAMN PHONE?"  
  
It should be noted that, although Mamoru tended not to be easily shaken, as soon as he heard that angry voice over his phone, he wanted to wet himself.  
  
"You're lucky you're on the the other side of the fucking world, you asshole. Otherwise you'd already be lying in a ditch somewhere, lacking some very essential parts." Mamoru did not say anything. He had lost his voice out of sheer terror.  
  
There was a scuffle on the other end, the muffled sound of shouting and of the phone being dropped a few times before exchanging hands. "JUST WAIT UNTIL I GET MY HANDS ON YOU, YOU FUCKING JERK!" Rei's screaching voice was such that Mamoru had to hold the phone away from his ear, just to save his eardrums. "Where do you get the gall to lie to everyone? To lie to ME even!"  
  
Suddenly, there were at least four voices shouting at him, seemingly all pressed up to the same reciever. Admist the unintelligible, Mamoru could hear such things as:  
  
"Gonna beat your ass in..."   
  
"And she was up all night worrying..."   
  
"And then I'll take a crowbar, and..."   
  
"She hasn't cried so much since they discontinued those Sailor Moon action figures..."   
  
"You'll be crying for your mommy..."   
  
"I am so going to torch you..."  
  
As though it were on fire, Mamoru threw the phone on the table, looking just about as though he were going to pass out. Well, it didn't much matter now whether Usagi was willing to forgive him or not - he would never make it back to Japan alive.  
  
Out of some sick sense of curiosity, Malachi picked the phone up off the table and listened. The wrath that was pouring out of Mamoru's cellphone was far too much for even him to handle, and it was quickly sent clattering onto the floor, where it rolled up against Jed's feet.  
  
Jed prided himself on his ability to laugh in the face of any insult. This was mostly due to the fact that they were directed at him on a regular basis, making him quite experienced in the matter. When he picked the cell up off the floor, he listened with a mildly amused expression on his face, nodding occasionally as if to urge the girls to continue. After listening intently for a few minutes he chirped in perfect Japanese, "You'll do what to his what?"  
  
There was a collective silence on the other end of the phone. "...Who the hell is this?" Rei said sharply.  
  
"Oh, just a friend of the guy you're threatening, no one really important. But hey, here's an idea: how about you lay off a guy who's barely slept or ate in the past three days and has been running for his life?"  
  
After the constant drone of screaming, the silence on the other end was deafening. Jed grinned, knowing full well he had their attention. "If Haruka-san's listening, you can let her know that her evil counterpart has already maimed him with the Space Sword, so she won't need to bother doing that now. She'll also be pleased to know that despite what she may think, the story Mamoru told her before was no lie." The smile on his face was positively evil. "I'm sure if you ask her about it, she might be able to clear up one or two things for you."  
  
When no response seemed forthcoming, Jed chirped, "It's been lovely, but I think the object of your affections is about to either piss in his pants or pass out. Perhaps both. Call again some time, okay?"  
  
Quickly, before anyone had the wherewithall to respond, Jed ended the call. "Mamoru, you have wonderful friends. That Rei-chan? What a pistol."  
  
Mamoru whimpered feebly, looking at the cellphone placed before him as though it was going to jump up and eat his face off.   
  
"Prince?" Malachi put down the mug of coffee warily, putting his now free hands on his friend's shoulders. "Are you okay?"  
  
He noticed, with great concern, how much his Prince's shoulders were shaking.  
  
"Prince?" Zory said softly, sitting down next to him.  
  
"I... I guess I can't blame them," Mamoru croaked, his voice wavering as though he was on the verge of tears. "This was all my fault. If I hadn't... God, Malachi, what have I done?"  
  
Malachi squeezed his shoulders sympathetically. "What are you talking about? You haven't done anything, Prince. Unless you count fighting clones as a cardinal sin."  
  
"No, not...not that. If I had just stayed on the phone with Usagi, I could have tried to explain. But now they'll never trust me again. I basically admitted to her that I'd been cheating. The Senshi won't even let me get one foot off the airplane before they tear me to pieces. I've just confirmed all their secret thoughts for what kind of guy I am. If I want to live, I can't leave this continent."  
  
"That's got to be an overdramatization of things, Prince." Neff raised an eyebrow. "After trying to protect you for so long, they'd just as soon really gore you with various pointy things?"  
  
"Faster than you could say 'Space Sword Blaster,' Neff. Oh, God, I-I hoped that maybe I'd be able to fix this..."  
  
"Of course you can still fix it, Prince." Zory put a hand on his arm. "They may not have any faith in you right now, but they've been your friends for years. Once they hear about what's really been happening, they'll understand."   
  
"Are you kidding? Now that they're so certain I've been cheating on her, anything I try to tell them will sound like nothing but a lame excuse. It doesn't even matter whether Usako can forgive me now; whether she does or not, they'll never let me near her again." A barely audible sob escaped this throat. "Not to mention that I've betrayed the trust of eight of my friends."  
  
"Someone's got to be levelheaded enough to see through this. Ami? Setsuna? Surely they--"  
  
Mamoru snorted derisively. "You'd think. But Haruka and Rei are persuasive. Give them ten minutes, they'll have the Mamoru is an Evil Bastard Homepage up before you can even get your computer started."  
  
"Prince, I hate to sound stupid--shut up, Zory--but I'd hardly call people who want nothing more than my head on a stick 'friends.'" Jed coughed. "Not that our track record is particularly spotless, I know, but we weren't swearing to protect you at the time."  
  
"By the looks of it, I don't think they are anymore, either." Any appetite that Mamoru might have otherwise had was now gone. He felt as though someone had taken a swing at his stomach with a baseball bat, and he was pretty sure that if he had eaten anything recently, he would have thrown up by now.  
  
Malachi moved around to Mamoru's side and knelt down by his chair. His friend still continued to shake slightly, and he had gone distressingly pale. "You don't look too good, Prince. I think you'd better lay down until breakfast is ready. The guys will bring it to you when it's ready, won't they?" He threw a glance up at the other three, who quickly nodded.  
  
"Of course we will." Zory gave what he hoped was an encouraging smile, but Mamoru was too busy staring at the table to take much notice. "You go get some rest, Prince."  
  
Mamoru's legs felt like lead as Malachi gently pulled him to his feet and guided him towards the bedroom. The effort made him feel faint, and by the time he collapsed onto the bed, he felt as though the room was spinning around him.  
  
He expected Malachi to return to the kitchen to help with the food, but the white-haired man remained next to him, seated on the edge of the bed. Mamoru was rather glad to have the company. Considering how often he needed to be saved from himself lately, he was not sure whether being alone would be such a good thing right now.   
  
Malachi sighed inwardly as he watched his Prince roll onto his side and curl into a fetal ball of misery. Things had been going good for once! Alright, so maybe Mamoru had not yet returned to full health, but the fact that he had not been attacked, seriously injured, or fainted all morning had been a really good sign. But now, just when things were starting to look up, this had to happen. Malachi had never had a reason to dislike the Sailor Senshi in the past, but at the moment he was holding them in about as high regard as he did their evil clones.  
  
...Well, come to think of it, he did have a reason to dislike them in the past, but that was a part of his life he had just finished throwing up over and he rather wanted to think about other things for awhile.  
  
Quietly, nearly inaudible, Mamoru sobbed into a pillow. His life had, in a matter of minutes, gone from "not too bad" to "where's the rope and the nearest ceiling beam?" He felt a hand on his back, rubbing in gentle circles, but it gave him very little comfort.  
  
Everything he had come to know and love was slipping through his fingers. It was as though someone had reached the decision that his life was going far too good and thus smote him for this horrible crime. His two years of happiness had come to an abrupt and bitter end, and he had once again had his life reduced to a state of perpetual loneliness.  
  
"I'm sorry, Prince." Malachi leaned in, pressing his warmth against Mamoru's back. The black-haired man obviously needed all the reassurence he could get, and everyone else in the house be damned if they thought he was doing inappropriate things.  
  
"I'm sorry," he repeated, breathing lightly on his prince's neck. "I wish I could fix this..."  
  
He slid an arm beneath his Prince's chest, holding him close. Through the thin fabric of his "Azabu" t-shirt, the white-haired man could feel the rise and fall of his breathing, shaken by the sharp sobs that caused his whole body to tremble. He could feel, too, the rhythmic, steady throb of his heartbeat, and beneath that, the equally steady glow of the Golden Crystal.   
  
"I want my Usa!" Mamoru sobbed, his words muffled and rendered nearly unintelligible by the pillow that he had shoved his face into.  
  
Malachi tried to translate what had sounded like "I wumf my umfmmf," but had no success whatsoever. He wrapped his other arm around Mamoru's waist, so in essence, anyone who walked in at that moment would have assumed they were spooning.   
  
Silently, he damned himself for not locking his door after they came in. His only hope was that someone would come in with the breakfast and leave without asking questions.  
  
Of course, had Malachi truly cared about this, he would have simply gotten up and locked his door. But truth be told, his Prince was far more important to him than any reputation he might have otherwise maintained, and nothing could make him let go of Mamoru now, not even the threat of someone barging in on them.  
  
He was quite used to the culture that stated that men cannot display open shows of affection for one another without something else going on in the bedroom. But Kunzite's extended memories brought back to him a time and place when friendly hugs were more common than handshakes, and when no one would have thought twice about his rather close relationship with the Prince. And while he may not have been living in that time any more, he'd be damned if he was going to let Mamoru face this alone. He did not possess the same powers as his Prince; he could not heal his emotional wounds with the touch of his hand. But at the very least, he could be there for him.  
  
"I'm sorry," Malachi whispered close to his ear. "There's nothing I can do to make this any better."  
  
Mamoru sniffled quietly. "I'm just glad you guys are with me. If I had to do this alone, I...I don't think I could make it."  
  
"We'll always be here for you, Prince. Always." The white-haired man pulled his friend toward him further, so that they were one giant mass of sheets and limbs. "Right now, it's all we can do. But you'll never be alone while we're around, I swear it. I would sooner eat Jed's omlettes than abandon you."  
  
The prince tried to laugh, but he found that he just couldn't. His few chuckles quickly dissolved back into sobs, and he curled in on himself and around Malachi's strong arms. At that moment, it was probably the warmest, safest place in the world.  
  
Malachi obligingly held him tighter, his face half-burrowed in the mess of black hair in front of him. He could not imagine what his Prince was going through right now. The only personal equivalent he could think of would be if the other Shitennou--no, the entire frat house--had turned their backs on him. They weren't just friends to him; they were his family, the people he had come to trust and depend upon. He knew that Mamoru, lacking a lifetime of personal relationships, had come to think of the Sailor Senshi as much more than friends or comrades. Even without taking the loss of his fiance into account, to suddenly lose all of them at once like this could be nothing short of devastating.  
  
"Do you remember the promise that I made to you yesterday?" Malachi asked softly, his voice slipping into Japanese as though he had spoken it his entire life.  
  
If Mamoru could have smiled at that moment, he would have. He never thought the sound of his mother tongue could be so comforting. Even the effort of comprehending the words of his second language had become strenuous to him. "Yes," he croaked feebly between sobs.  
  
"That promise still stands. Even if the entire world abandons you, we never will."  
  
Jed tucked the steaming tray of food - coffee, hash browns, scrambled eggs - under his arm precariously. Before he could even get his hand on the doorknob, he was touched on the shoulder by Zory.  
  
"Leave them," the feminine blonde said quietly. He inclined his head in the direction of the door. "I doubt the prince is -really- up to eating, after that phone call. And if I know Malachi, he's probably got the prince in a very embarassing bearhug that he'd rather not have unsuspecting fratboys stumble upon."  
  
"Well," Jed peered down at the food under his arm, "I guess -we're- having breakfast, then."  
  
Zory sighed as he entered the kitchen. "We can bring them what's left when we're done eating. Mamoru might hopefully be up to it by then." He pulled a plate out of the cupboard and started loading it with hashbrowns. "That is, if we can prevent rampaging frat boys from demolishing it first. Soon as they smell it, you know they'll come crawling out of the woodwork."  
  
"I'll beat 'em off with a stick if they come within a foot of the Prince's food," Neff drawled, nibbling on a piece of bacon while he read the sports section.  
  
"Why not with a knife?" Jed asked, putting a plastic dome over Mamoru's food to keep it warm.  
  
"You kidding? I wouldn't want to cook with them after I'd hacked those sleezy, drunken wads to pieces."  
  
Zory looked a shade greener as he sat down, plate in one hand and cup of coffee in another. "Well, gee, thank you for that, Neff."  
  
"Any time," Neff said, over a mouthful of bacon. It came out sounding distinctly more like "Mnf ngh."  
  
Mamoru sniffled quietly, most of his tears spent. He did not exactly feel any better about his situation, but if he cried any longer, he would likely shrivel up from dehydration. He sighed deeply, feeling Malachi's warm breaths against his neck and the strong arms that wrapped around him like a blanket. He could not begin to express how thankful he was for his friend's presence.   
  
"Do you think she'll miss me?" he muttered into the pillow.   
  
"Oh, Prince, don't give up on this yet. I know it looks bad, but I've seen you and Serenity been seperated by entire legions of lunarian subjects, -and- her mother. Thousands upon thousands of people, compared to eight? I think your odds are better."  
  
"But those thousands of people wouldn't castrate me upon sight."  
  
"No, they tend not to do that to royalty, but you know what I mean."  
  
"I can't ever go back to Japan. And even if I don't, they'd probably still find a way to track me down here. The others may not be able to afford it, but Haruka-san could easily buy a plane ticket." He snorted. "Actually, she'd probably pay for the whole lot of them to come here, just to execute me."  
  
"And if that were to happen, they would have to get past us before they could lay a finger on you."  
  
Mamoru squeezed the rough hand that rested against his chest. As much as it pained him to think of what might happen to his friends if they protected him from such an onslaught, it was somehow comforting to have someone to fight for him.  
  
"What if I never see her again?"  
  
"You will, Prince. Because she loves you every bit as much as you love her. Even if you really had cheated on her, she'd find it in her heart to forgive you."  
  
"Malachi, we're the Romeo and Juliet of the modern era, and you know it."  
  
"Yeah, but I already preempted your suicide part, didn't I? And you know the last thing the Senshi would ever do is let Usagi kill herself." Malachi buried his face into Mamoru's hair, nose rubbing against the man's scalp. "If Usagi wants to see you badly, she will find a way to do it, one way or the other. If she has to hop a plane, if she has to run away from the Senshi and change her name and dye her hair pink, she'll do it."  
  
"You really think so?"  
  
"You'd do it for her, wouldn't you?"  
  
"I think it would be rather difficult to dye my hair pink."  
  
"Yes, and lavendar is so far off." Mamoru half-heartedly elbowed him in the ribs.  
  
Malachi chuckled and pushed himself up on his elbow, leaning over the black-haired prince. He softly brushed the backs of his knuckles across Mamoru's cheek, wiping away the tears that covered his entire face. "Your pillow's all soaked now. That can't be comfortable."  
  
Mamoru sniffled and sat up, with some help from his friend, while Malachi rearranged the pillows so that he would not have to be laying in a puddle of his own tears. When he lay back down again, he was facing the white-haired man, who sat with his back against the headboard. He draped an arm around Mamoru, rhythmically stroking his back. Mamoru curled up with his face resting against his soft cotton shirt, the light scents of cologne and mint, strangely accented with the smell of fresh snow, filling his nostrils.  
  
"I've missed this," the prince murmured, snuggling in closer. He hadn't remembered how good it felt to have Kunzite comforting him, but somehow it had come trickling back in the last few minutes. He felt protected here, almost as much as he did when he was holding his Usako. It was as though they were seperate from the world; nothing could touch them.  
  
"There are so many times I wish I could have done this in the last two years," Malachi--Kunzite, rather--said quietly. "Being stuck in a rock rather eliminates the possibility of hugging."  
  
"I know how hard it must have been for you, always watching me but never being able to do anything to help me. I loved having you there and being able to talk to you, but... it just wasn't the same."  
  
"There were so many nights when I watched you sleeping, knowing what you were going through. And I... I thought that the only thing I truly wanted was to be able to reach out and touch your face, to be able to give you that comfort that you so often needed."  
  
"I don't know how I could survive this whole evil clone mess without you. If I could." Mamoru sniffled quietly. "You know, you're the first person in almost ten years to see me cry."  
  
"Well, I'd say I was honored, but considering the circumstances, you'll forgive me if I don't." Malachi touched his friend's face gently, holding the tear-stained cheek as though it were fragile. "Do you want to eat something now, or are you still too uncomfortable?"  
  
Mamoru groaned. "They went to all that trouble to cook breakfast for me, and I had to have a PMS attack. I hate to let it go to waste, but..."  
  
"Don't feel obligated to eat, Prince. They're probably just as happy as I am to be occupied by doing things for you; three hours from now, if you proclaimed that you wanted a stuffed pig for dinner, they'd find some way to do it, and you wouldn't even have to ask twice. That's how excited they are. Besides, it won't go to waste. You're living in a house full of college boys. No food ever lasts more than four hours in this house without being eaten."  
  
Mamoru smiled wanly. "If I weren't such a nice person, I'd be very interested in testing that theory. I'd especially like to know how they would manage to cook the thing."  
  
Malachi snickered. "Actually, they did it at last spring's end-of-the-year kegger. I believe they dug a pit in the beach volleyball court. Darn thing still smells like ham."  
  
"You live in a very interesting place, Malachi. I get the feeling that staying here after living alone for the past several years will take some getting used to."  
  
"Oh, you'll grow to like it. The guys get on your nerves sometimes, like when they 'borrow' important things, like your toothbrush, or when they keep you up half the night listening to The Pointer Sisters. But there's never a dull moment around here, and it's really rather nice having so many people around who think of you as a friend." Malachi wondered idly whether that was why Tethys had sent them to a frat house, of all places. Their friendships with the other frat boys had helped them learn how to live as normal human beings. Well, as normal as drunken college students could be.  
  
"You know, I'm supposed to be living here now, but I don't even know the name of this place. Aren't American frat houses supposed to be named after Greek letters or something?"  
  
"It's called Epsilon Xi."  
  
"That sounds like cheap sci fi."  
  
"Yeah, those Greeks were really big on Farscape and The Matrix back in their day."  
  
"And I have to know: do you guys ever get anything academic done in here?"  
  
The white-haired man chuckled. "Zory and I are both majoring in Geological Sciences; we take the same classes, and often study together. Neff is minoring in GeoSci, but majoring in Culinary Arts, which means he spends more time in the kitchen than the library. Jed...Well, half the time we aren't sure what he's studying. I think he's changed his major four times in half as many years. He apparently passes all the classes he takes, but I couldn't even tell you what they are."  
  
"So he's an Italian-statistical-psychological-computer science-biochemistry-music major?"  
  
"Yeah, something like that. You'll have to ask him; he gives a different answer every time."   
  
As if right on cue, the door opened and Jed poked his head inside. "Hey, sorry if I'm disturbing you guys. I was just wondering whether the Prince is up to eating." He pointedly ignored the fact that the two looked rather like they were snuggling. Normally it would be at the butt of all his jokes for at least a week, but it did not seem appropriate to be making fun of Mamoru at a time like this.  
  
Malachi ran his fingers through the black locks of Mamoru's hair. "I know you're not hungry, but you should try to eat something, even if it's just a couple bites. I don't want you getting sick on top of everything else."  
  
The prince sighed. "You're right. I can't afford to start passing out from vitamin deficieny now. Not when my face is going to be on every wanted poster in Juuban, and any number of other districts."  
  
The blonde opened the door all the way with his foot, bearing the tray he had intended to deliver sooner. "Don't force yourself, Prince. Just eat what you feel like; it's not like it'll go to waste, or anything."  
  
Malachi coughed in an attempt to smother a laugh. Mamoru just regarded Jed with something like a smile. "Thanks."  
  
The other two followed Jed in, Neff carrying a second plate of food for Malachi. As the white-haired man helped him sit up, Mamoru dimly noted how weak he felt. His lack of decent nutrition over the past few days doubtlessly had something to do with that.   
  
He looked down at the tray that Jed carefully set on his lap. It certainly looked good. At least, he was fairly confident that it would not poison him in any way (and when one has eaten Usagi's baking, one must take these sorts of things into account).  
  
He took a small experimental bite of scrambled eggs. Still chewing, he gave the chefs a vague half-smile. "It's pretty good."  
  
Zory smiled brilliantly. "It would've been better if Jed hadn't put so much pepper in."  
  
"Excuse me, but some of us don't like our breakfast tasting like drywall," Jed remarked, crossing his arms.  
  
Mamoru had not realized how hungry he was until he took the first bite. After that, the eggs hardly stood a chance, and the hashbrowns were no better off.   
  
Malachi tried very, very hard to surpress yet more laughter as Mamoru nearly inhaled the plate of food. He may have thought himself not terribly hungry, but his stomach obviously had other ideas. The white-haired man took his own taste of the eggs; Jed had gotten a little carried away with the pepper, but he was rather keen on spicy foods, anyway, and didn't mind much.  
  
"We'll be in the kitchen if you need anything else." Zory exited the bedroom with a small wave, Jed not far behind him.  
  
"So, are they cuddly in there or whaaaAAAHH!" The sound of Neff screaming was followed by the sound of a chair tipping over, and then "...ow."  
  
"Serves you right," they could hear Zory say. "Leave those two alone. This is hardly the time for teasing."  
  
Malachi smirked at the closed door. It wasn't often that Zory managed to inflict pain on his much larger companion. Mamoru hardly noticed the noise; he was far too busy demolishing his pile of hashbrowns. "Hey, don't forget to chew it," Malachi said teasingly.  
  
Mamoru gave him a sheepish look as he swallowed a mouthful. "I'm sorry, I guess I'm a little more hungry than I realized."  
  
"You apologize way too much, Prince. Just make sure you don't choke while you're inhaling it. I'm a little rusty at the Heimlich maneuver."  
  
"We'd have to settle for Neff pounding you on the back!" Jed called. After a moment, he added, "As soon as he regains consciousness!"  
  
Mamoru nearly did choke on his hashbrowns then. "He is kidding, right?"  
  
"Most likely. Neff's got a thick head."  
  
"Heard that!"  
  
There was silence for a moment.  
  
"You know what you need?"  
  
Mamoru looked up briefly from his cup of coffee, expectant.  
  
"Put down that cup first. And move that tray to the nightstand."  
  
The prince did as he was instructed. Not seconds after he'd taken his fingers off the wooden tray, the white-haired man came vaulting across the bed, coming face to face with a wide-eyed Mamoru before they both went tumbling off the bed and onto the carpet.  
  
"...the hell was that, Malachi?" Mamoru stuttered, staring up at the man currently occupying a position on top of him.  
  
"Well, it was meant to be a rather large bear hug. What can I say? I'm zealous."  
  
"I obviously don't understand the definition of 'bear hug' if it involves being tackled to the floor."  
  
"Do I want to know what's going on in there?" Jed called from the kitchen.  
  
"I doubt it."  
  
"Hey, I'm just trying to make you feel better, here. When's the last time you've been hugged like that?"  
  
"Never. Unless Usako put on an extra ninety pounds and dyed her hair white."  
  
"Well then, you should feel special for having such a privilege."  
  
"Being crushed by a two-hundred pound man is a privilege?"  
  
"I weigh one-ninety, thank you very much." The white-haired man smirked down at him. "And it is a privilege."  
  
"Okay, now you're freaking me out. Get off me, you sick bastard."  
  
"Nah. This is way more fun."  
  
"Are you going to get off, or do I have to make it a royal order?" Mamoru raised one eyebrow, challengingly.  
  
"Well, being the sick bastard I am, I might just enjoy that." Malachi raised the opposite eyebrow. "Yeah, baby."  
  
"I'm not listening!" Zory called, turning on the kitchen faucet. "La la la la la la!"  
  
"See, this was one thing I definitely didn't miss."  
  
"Oh, you loved it and you know it."  
  
"No, really, I think there's a reason I blocked this part from my mind."  
  
"Because you didn't want to admit to your secret passionate relationship with him?" Neff shouted over the sound of the running water.  
  
"Do I have to hurt you, Malachi?"  
  
"Depends. Would you like to?"  
  
"That's it, you're in for it now." The black-haired prince suddenly shoved Malachi off him and, before the other man could react, wrestled him to the ground.  
  
"Ooh, getting rough. I knew you'd come around." The humor was glittering evilly in Malachi's eyes.  
  
"Fine, I'll play along," Mamoru grinned, his hands clamped down on his friend's wrists.   
  
"Still not listening!" Zory bellowed.  
  
"Oh, but we are!" Neff and Jed chimed, almost in unison.  
  
Maybe it was the fact that eight women were probably huddled around a dark desk, planning his demise. Maybe it was because he was in the middle of the most star-crossed love affair in recent memory. Or maybe it was because he was living in a frat house with four men who were previously rocks. Whatever it was, the prince decided that he could do away with the last thread of his sanity for the time being and just do whatever the hell he felt like.  
  
Which, at the moment, was making Malachi sorry he'd ever "hugged" him in the first place.  
  
Malachi wrenched his wrists out of Mamoru's grip and with an emphatic growl wrapped an arm around the back of his neck and pulled him face-first onto the carpet. "Getting a little rusty, aren't you Prince? Too much studying, perhaps?"  
  
"Don't break him, Malachi! We'd like to keep him around a while." Shouted Jed between fits of stifled laughter.  
  
Mamoru squirmed out from under the offending arm and pushed Malachi down beneath him, forcing his full weight against the white-haired man's back to keep him pinned down. "I'm not the one who's been living in a rock for the past two years. Rolled off any tables lately, Malachi?"  
  
"No, I'm much more partial to beds now, considering I have limbs." Malachi bucked his legs and with a quick move, flipped their positions so that he was bearing down on the smaller prince.  
  
"And other things," he purred, almost too enthusiastically, into Mamoru's ear.  
  
//This is getting to be way too much fun. The things I do to help him.//  
  
"Mrs. Robinson, are you trying to seduce me?" the black-haired man said, muffled by the carpet.  
  
"Damn, am I that transparent?"  
  
"Any more transparent, and you'd be able to replace that window I broke. I can see your less-than-pure intentions." Mamoru whipped around and grabbed him by the shirt, pulling him down on the floor next to him and planting a shoulder in his chest.   
  
"Among other things." He grinned wickedly, his nose inches from Malachi's.  
  
"And you call me the sick bastard."  
  
"Takes one to know one?"  
  
"This is true." Malachi paused. "You know, I almost feel like we should be wearing only fig leaves to do this. It's only fair; traditional, you know?"  
  
"You just want to see my ass, Malachi." Mamoru shook his head. "Transparent like a window."  
  
"You know we're still out here, right?" Neff asked. "And listening to every word you say?"  
  
"Do we need to sound-proof your room, Malachi?" Zory called.  
  
"If you don't like it, you can go somewhere else."  
  
"Not a chance in hell!" Chimed Jed. "Quick Neff, get the video camera!"  
  
Mamoru snickered at the closed door. "They're almost as frightening as you are."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
"I didn't really intend that as a compliment."  
  
"Pity, that."  
  
Before the part-wrestling, part-nearly illicit behavior could get any further, there was a slight rumble above on the rafters.  
  
"Did you hear that?" Mamoru asked, sounding the slightest bit anxious.  
  
"Hear what?"  
  
There was a most definite crunch the second time, followed by the sound of a body falling from above him.  
  
"Guess who's back, Mister Meanypants!"  
  
Mamoru didn't have time to guess, not that he needed to. The cold, curved silver blade up against his neck was the only clue he needed.  
  
"Alright Malachi, enough doing indecent things to--" As the door swung open, Neff stopped dead in his tracks, taking in the horrible image of his Prince kneeling on the floor with the deadly tip of a Silence Glaive at his throat.  
  
"I told you I'd bring you silence," the little girl said sweetly, her braided pigtails bobbing as she tilted her head to the side.  
  
"This time," she continued softly, brushing the blade ever-so-gently against his skin, "we'll do it nice and quick, alright Mister?"  
  
"Don't even think about it," Neff growled. He began to advance on the little girl, but when she giggled airily, he paused.  
  
Slowly, with the precision of a doctor, she pulled the blade along Mamoru's throat. The line of blood was as thin as a papercut, but much more deadly.  
  
"You take one more step, mister, and I'm gonna cut his head off." Harmony grinned down at Malachi, who'd gone paler than a ghost under his prince's weight. "And what a mess that would be."  
  
"Prince!" Zory gasped, staring at Mamoru over Neff's shoulder. He and Jed looked just as desperate as Neff to rush to his rescue.  
  
Mamoru glared up at Harmony, hardly daring to breathe for fear of accidently slicing his throat open. He came to a conclusion then: he hated this little girl. He hated the fact that she had nearly killed Malachi. He hated the fact that she wanted his head on a stick. But more than that, he hated the fact that she had interrupted one of the only moments of "bonding time" that he had had with his friend in his entire life, and that to him was far more important than any overdeveloped sense of masochism that he may have had. To him it was no longer a matter of self-preservation. He wanted her dead.  
  
------  
  
Some notes to the reader:  
  
If you're curious about the logic behind the Shitennou's attacks, the idea came from Buddhist mythology. Each direction on the compass is guarded by one of the mythological Shitennou, as well as a celestial creature known as the Ssu Ling. These creatures are the Black Tortoise of the North, the Red Bird of the South, the Blue Dragon of the East, and the White Tiger of the West.  
  
Also, where does everyone get the idea that the Senshi are going to fly over to America? We're just going to pull a Deus ex Machina, and nine high school girls, most of whom do not have the funds nor the wherewithall to fly across the Pacific, are going to appear? Likewise, five boys are going to abandon their college educations, which we can assure you is not looked highly upon by the staff, so the Shitennou can meet up with their TWOO WUVS and live HAPPILY EVER AFTER in Tokyo?  
  
Just because the Shitennou are in a story does NOT mean they automatically hook up the Senshi. That is one of the purposes of this story. The Shitennou are people, not just pairing objects. Aside from phone conversations, and the occasional scene IN JAPAN, the Senshi are not making any appearences. Those of you dying for Senshi/Shitennou romance are reading the wrong story, and we suggest you seek out others if that's aboslutely necessary for your enjoyment.  
  
We realize we've probably pissed off half the people who read this fic, but these things have to be said. All flames can, again, be directed to The White House, District of Columbia, United States.  
  
~Spirit-hime and AngelAnne 


	6. Chapter 6

Bleed (Just to Know You're Alive)  
  
Chapter 6  
  
//anything between slashes are thoughts//  
  
----  
  
It was surprising to Malachi, who had not yet recovered from the quick blood drain from his face, that Mamoru looked more angry than afraid of the very large sharp thing poised right atop his jugular. One wrong move, one breath too big, and it would all be over. But his prince looked positively livid, which was not a particularly enjoyable thing to be positioned under.  
  
Mamoru gritted his teeth. How was he going to get Harmony away from Malachi without having his own head sliced off? There were a lot of things the Golden Crystal could fix, but being beheaded was not one of them. At least, he was pretty sure about that. He didn't really want to experiment to find out.  
  
Of course, there was one thing he could try. But would it actually be possible? Certainly, he had picked up quite a few new tricks since he had started using his crystal, but that did not mean he could manage this. Although, it would not necessarily require him to do it well, merely to do it fast. It was worth a shot, in any case.  
  
"Teddykins n' I were so happy to come play with you. Too bad we have to cut it short." Harmony adjusted her grip on the handle of the huge Glaive, preparing to swing it in such a way that it would slice through his throat in a single, clean arc.  
  
Malachi felt his blood run cold as he watched Mamoru close his eyes. //He's just going to let it happen... After all that, he's going to die after all...//  
  
"Goodbye, Mister."  
  
"PRINCE!" Four voices screamed simultaneously as the giant blade came swinging down...  
  
Only to strike empty air.  
  
"Looks like you missed." Mamoru smirked, standing on top of Malachi's bed as though he'd totally meant to get up there. "Malachi, move!"  
  
The white-haired man didn't hesitate. He rolled to the right, avoiding a collision with a very pointy Glaive, just as a black-haired denim blur lept into the air and on the small child.  
  
Harmony let out an ear-piercing screech as a very large body came crashing down on top of her. "That -hurts-! I'll show you not to roughhouse with me!"  
  
"No, you won't." Grabbing her by the pigtails, Mamoru hoisted her to her feet and then quickly teleported outside. He wasn't taking the chance of going through yet another window.  
  
"Let go of me, you big meanie head!" Harmony tried to wrench her pigtails out of his grip, but when she failed to escape Mamoru's strong hands she took a swing at him with her Glaive. He dodged just in time, giving her a small shove as he released her hair to throw her off-balance.  
  
As the little girl stumbled back, Mamoru suddenly found himself surrounded by four brown capes. Kunzite smirked at him. "I see you've finally figured out teleportation."  
  
Mamoru smirked back. "I'm still not done with you yet."  
  
"We can finish our little conversation later."  
  
"Oh good, so I can continue kicking your ass."  
  
"I'll be looking forward to it."  
  
"Look, save the bedroom banter for after, okay?" Nephrite muttered, watching the little lacey girl with an evil look. She wasn't going to get close enough to do any more potential damage, not while he was standing.  
  
Harmony stomped her feet angrily. "You're mean! It was supposed to be clean and quick and now you've made it all complicated!"  
  
"Stop moaning and start fighting, pipsqueak!" Zoisite snapped angrily.  
  
"Fine!" The little girl charged at Zoisite, wildly brandishing her Glaive.   
  
Expecting her attack, Zory shot his hand out, and suddenly felt himself being engulfed by flames as a giant fiery bird materialized above his head. Harmony let out a scream and ducked, covering her head, as the blazing bird soared towards her, miniscule flames dropping from its massive eagle-like wings like burning feathers. Or rather, like flaming flower petals.  
  
The little bursts of flame lit her outfit on fire, and she frantically tried to smother each before she was burned to a crisp.  
  
"Here, let me put that out for you!" Jadeite called, putting out his hand. A familiar water dragon sprang forth, soaking the little girl to the bone and slamming her into the pavement still faintly bloody from previous encounters.  
  
"Dead Scream."  
  
Before you could say "get down," Nephrite and Kunzite had immediately thrown themselves on top of Mamoru in an effort to protect him. The main result of this was their prince going, "Ow."  
  
"Do I need to remind you guys how heavy you are?" he groaned from his rather squished position on the ground.  
  
"Oi, show a little gratitude for the people who are protecting you," Nephrite grumbled, sounding a tad insulted.  
  
"Protecting me doesn't mean crushing me, but thanks anyway."  
  
"Thought you'd get off easy, didn'cha Prince?" Sanura sneered, pointing her Time Key replica at them. "We're not quite finished with ya yet."  
  
"Oh good. Here I was, afraid you'd forgotten all about me."  
  
"What's the plan?" Zoisite hissed, leaning over to Kunzite. "It's two against four, but that blonde is still missing in action, and I don't want to run the risk that they have any more friends."  
  
"Lead those two away from the prince. Nephrite and Jadeite can keep him covered for now," the leader whispered back. "The further away the sharp implements, the better off he is."  
  
"Fine with me."   
  
Kunzite turned to face Sanura, suppressing a grin as behind him he heard the distinct roar of a fire bird flaring up, and the subsequent scream of the little girl.  
  
Sanura snorted, subconsciously adjusting her leather outfit. "Looks like the Prince got hisself some friends. Not that it'll matter much. Garnet Ball!"  
  
Kunzite sneered at the woman before him. "My turn," he growled viciously. Without so much as a blink, his eyes went from green to bright, glowing silver. Shadows undulated around him, seeming to plunge the entire world into darkness like a sudden eclipse. In the thick, murky blackness some great thing was shifting. Only a few glimpses of the shadowy beast could be seen through the darkness--the huge faintly glistening scales upon a curved black shell, the tip of an enormous winglike fin, a single eye, glowing with that same penetrating silver light.  
  
"Jadeite?" Nephrite said quietly, gently knocking heads with his blonde friend. "Did he just create a really big turtle?"  
  
"Uh huh," Jadeite confirmed eloquently.  
  
It was, in actuality, a tortoise, but considering Nephrite probably hadn't seen one in quite a number of years, Mamoru figured it wasn't necessary to clarify. But a tortoise it was indeed, shining faintly like well-polished obsidian, obscuring ninety percent of the light that should have been present so early in the day. It was enormous, dwarfing all of the fighters assembled on the playground, the streetlights, the trees, and even the frathouse. With all the grace that thousands of years of the evolutionary equivalent of gold stars and happy faces provide, the giant creature opened its cavernous mouth, inside of which were positively thousands of brilliant, pin-pricked sized glimmers of light. With one quick "snap," it swallowed Sanura whole, which was succeeded by an enraged scream.  
  
"Am I ever glad I'm on your good side," Zoisite muttered, eyeing the white-haired man in a mixture of wariness and awe.  
  
The massive tortoise arched its head upwards towards the sky, its scaly onyx skin shining as it moved, the barely-visible beak turned up in a sort of solemn smile; grinning as only a tortoise can. With as little fanfare as had accompanied its appearance, the mammoth creature vanished in a gust of broken shadows, leaving a battered Sanura in its wake.  
  
"That thing's gonna give me nightmares now," Jadeite said with a shudder. "That's freaking creepy, Kunzite."  
  
Kunzite grinned, the silver glow fading from his eyes. "Thank you."  
  
Harmony blinked as daylight once again returned, only to find a smirking Zoisite standing over her. Sparks danced in the palm of his hand, ready to regenerate the terrifying bird. "Ready to continue our game, love?"  
  
"Get away from me!" she yelled, trying to club the blonde over the head with the business end of her Glaive. Thinking fast, Zoisite fell onto his back and swiped the little girl's feet out from under her with his own.  
  
"Yer a feisty one," Sanura wheezed, failing in an attempt to get to her feet. "Didn't expect to get knocked down by a tortoise."  
  
"They never do," Kunzite said, smirking.   
  
"Naw, I s'pose not," she panted heavily, leaning awkwardly on her staff. Suddenly she leapt up with an eloquent "NNGAAA!", Time Key swinging, and clubbed him in the jaw. "Didn't expect that, didja?"  
  
Kunzite stumbled briefly from the unexpected blow, but recovered almost immediately. "No, I didn't," he answered, wiping the blood from his lip with the back of his hand. She smirked, taking a second swing, but he was more than prepared this time, and easily blocked the blow with his arm before neatly planting an armoured knee in her stomach.  
  
"What am I supposed to do, just stand here?" Mamoru asked irritably, not used to just sitting back and watching his friends fight for him.   
  
"Well, it's somewhat better than getting your head chopped off, Prince," Nephrite answered, keeping a careful lookout for anything that could endanger his Prince.  
  
"Hey, I'm not used to being on this end of the fight. I mean, my job is usually 'Jump In Front of Pointy Things Headed for Sailor Moon.' Or 'Get Brainwashed and Die, Not Necessarily at the Same Time.'"  
  
"Get used to it, Prince!" Zoisite shouted, barely escaping a transformation into two very dead halves, courtesy Harmony. "You're the Sailor Moon of this fivesome, and you're just going to sit back until it's time for you to pull out your metaphorical wand and shower us in metaphorical sparkles!"  
  
Mamoru testily crossed his arms. "As long as I'm not expected to wear a skirt and tie my hair up in pigtails."  
  
"Not unless we get you really drunk first." Jadeite flashed him a quick smirk, before again turning his attention outward. He looked even more edgy than Mamoru about standing back while the other two fought, and eventually resolved his tension by calling up his dragon and allowing it to pace around the three, swimming in lazy arcs and swoops through the air.   
  
Mamoru watched the fight in a most fidgety sort of way, taking in sharp breathes any time Zoisite or Kunzite took a blow. As though the idea had just come about, he finally transformed, his dingy, bloodied shirt and jeans morphing into an all-familiar tuxedo. He idly though about changing those clothes soon, perhaps at a moment when his life wasn't hanging in the balance.  
  
"Dead Scream."   
  
Jadeite's water dragon swooped down, knocking away the potent ball of energy before it could even get halfway to Kunzite. Unfortunately, as the dragon dissipated, it knocked the attack in another direction, and sent it straight at the two guardians and their Prince.  
  
Seeing that they had no time, Nephrite grabbed Mamoru by the arm and threw him forcefully aside. He hadn't even landed on the grass when he heard the dual shouts of pain.  
  
Jadeite was forcibly slammed on his back, but Nephrite shakily stood his ground. "Is that all?" He growled as the attack faded, wavering slightly on his feet.  
  
"Certainly packs a punch, doesn't she?" Jadeite coughed. After scrambling off the ground himself, Mamoru rushed over to help him to his feet.   
  
"Your dragon needs to work on his aim, Jadeite."  
  
"Hey, I didn't see any felines helping out there, thank you very much."  
  
"I was conserving my energy, thank you very--"  
  
"Can it!" Kunzite shouted, just as he took the heart-shaped end of a Time Key to his stomach. He groaned, just as Sanura gave it a repeat performance.   
  
Before any of the Shitennou could get an attack in the air, there was a loud, unexpected cry of "Crescent Beam!"  
  
Jadeite threw himself on top of Mamoru while Nephrite remained standing in front of both of them, taking the brunt of the attack.   
  
"Stop doing that!" The black-haired prince shouted, trying to scramble out from beneath Jadeite.   
  
"Would you shut up and let us protect you?" The blonde half-whined, practically sitting on Mamoru to keep him from getting up again.  
  
"Protecting me is one thing. Acting as human shields is something else altogether."  
  
"You five are positively pathetic," Miniya drawled, perched daintily on the roof of the frat house. "Did you like my little gift earlier?"  
  
"Yeah, it was bloody wonderful," Nephrite wheezed, barely staying on his feet.   
  
Miniya smiled, showing her teeth. They were very, very white and very, very sharp. "I'm so glad. Venus Love and Beauty Shock!"  
  
Mamoru writhed underneath the weight of the blonde on top of him, but Jadeite didn't budge. "Look, hold off, okay? You have three Senshi to dust, and the longer you save energy, the less likely it is that you'll pass out."  
  
"You're just going to sit on top of me while Nephrite gets his ass kicked?"   
  
"Yeah, you're damn right that's what I'm going to do," Jadeite snapped. "Because that's our job. I know you're new to this whole 'being protected' thing, but this is part of it. People get hurt. People who aren't you, specifically."   
  
Nephrite stumbled backwards and nearly landed on top of the pair. He snarled at the woman on top of the roof, his expression nearly matching the ethereal tiger that appeared in front of him.  
  
"I see nothing good about that arrangement!" Mamoru barked, trying to buck Jadeite off of him. The blonde was much quicker than he appeared, however, and with one swift move he had the Prince's arm wrenched painfully behind his back.   
  
"Don't make me hurt you, Prince. You know I would if I had to."  
  
"No, you wouldn't."  
  
Jadeite tugged on his prince's arm, not enough to dislocate it but enough for him to curse quietly in pain. "Yes, I would. Now you are going to hold the fuck still, Prince, you hear me?"  
  
"I hate you, Jed," Mamoru snarled, glaring lopsidedly upward at the guardian on top of him.  
  
"Yeah, love you too, you drama queen."  
  
Miniya yelped as the tiger nearly unseated her from her perch on the roof. "Nice trick!" She shouted at Nephrite, clinging to the shingles. "Rolling Heart Vibration!"  
  
Kunzite tried to keep himself focused on the leather-clad woman who was intently attempting to give him a concussion with her staff, but his Prince's feelings of fear and rage were steadily escalating in the back of his mind. As much as he wanted to applaud Jadeite for keeping Mamoru out of harm's way, the black-haired man's excess emotions were becoming nearly unbearable, and he was tempted to yell at Jadeite to just let him go. If only they could make him understand that what they were doing was no different from all the times he had thrown himself in front of an attack for Usagi!  
  
The giant tiger absorbed Miniya's attack easily, spraying bits of energy around in brief gusts of wind.   
  
"Your turn, Jadeite." Nephrite coughed, collapsing onto his back. He didn't have the energy to stay on his feet any longer.   
  
"If you move, I'm coming back here and tickling you to death," Jadeite warned severely - he meant it. Letting go of the black-haired man's arm, he stood up, eyeing Miniya as one might eye a poisonous spider.  
  
Ignoring Jadeite's warning, Mamoru rushed to Nephrite's side, gently laying a hand on the man's forehead. Blood stained his white uniform in several places and more than a few cuts and bruises were already beginning to swell up on his face. "Don't worry about me, Prince," he wheezed painfully, giving Mamoru a broken smile. "It's not too bad. I just need a break."  
  
"'Not too bad' my ass," Mamoru snarled. He could sense how badly Nephrite was hurt as easily as if it were his own body. "I'll get you healed up, and--"  
  
"No! Prince, please, you need to save your strength."  
  
"The longer I 'save my strength' the more the four of you are getting hurt. I can't just sit here and not help you."  
  
"Just hold off, okay? I'll be fine until you vaporize the--" Nephrite had to stop when he began to cough, violently at that. He rolled onto his side, curled up in a fetal position. He was most definitely in need of healing.  
  
That was the last straw. Mamoru rolled his friend over on his back again, acquiring his familair golden glow. "The longer I wait, the more I have to lose, Nephrite. I'm not going to wipe myself; I'm just going to keep you from dying. Is that acceptable?"  
  
"Okay, fine," the brunette muttered, trying hard to squash a smile.  
  
Once he began healing his friend, Mamoru found it very difficult to hold back. It was as though the Golden Crystal was as instinctively eager to heal as he was, and if it were not for Jadeite's pointed glare, he probably would have taken care of every last paper cut and hangnail that the brunette was suffering from. Once he was sure that all of the lethal wounds were gone and that Nephrite would not be in nearly as much pain as he had been, he forced himself to swallow the rest of his power, and the golden aura faded. "Better?"  
  
Nephrite winced slightly as he sat up, but his breathing was no longer as ragged. "Much. Thanks, Prince."  
  
Mamoru thought to reply, but his words were cut short by Zoisite's scream. A swift move by Harmony had clipped the blonde across the shoulder with the sharp end of her Glaive, nearly taking his whole arm off. He already looked more than a little battered, but he nevertheless flicked his tangled hair out of his face and prepared to block another swipe by the delinquent child.  
  
Nephrite grabbed Mamoru by the arm before he ran off to help. "As much as Jadeite will give me hell for it later, I'm going to go help Zoi. Just stay here and don't commit suicide while I'm gone, okay?"  
  
"Shut up, Neph," the prince snapped, although he didn't really mean it.  
  
"Yeah, yeah, you know you love me."  
  
Mamoru cursed under his breath as he watched the brunette run towards Zoisite, a prominent limp in his step. It was just so frustrating to be sitting back while his friends were getting hurt for him. What good was having the Golden Crystal if he could not even use it to help the people he loved? //I guess I can't really blame them. They are just trying to protect me.// He idly rubbed the arm which Jadeite had pinned back, still feeling the dull ache in his muscles. //Perhaps a little TOO much.// They were acting as though they were trying to make up for the twenty years of his life when they had not been there for him. As much as he appreciated the effort, the Shitennou, as dearly as Mamoru loved them, were trying too hard. Twenty years was an awful lot to fit into one battle, after all.  
  
But they were obviously determined to make up for all they'd missed, he realized as he watched Nephrite take a swing at Harmony, the punch sending her reeling. They weren't holding back, which was mighty thoughtful, but they were being reckless. They weren't trying hard enough to avoid injury; they blocked, they dodged, but it wasn't as skillful as Mamoru had expected from them.  
  
"Zoi, go get the Prince to fix your arm," Nephrite said quietly, as he grabbed on of Harmony's flying pigtails and tossed her roughly aside. "And stay by him. We'll rotate, okay?"  
  
"I'm not going anywhere until that Goth girl is taken care of," Zoisite snarled, clutching his bloody arm as he stood next to Nephrite. His ponytail had fallen out, leaving a disheveled mane of blonde hair that partially obscured his face. His green eyes glared out from between the wavy strands, challenging anyone to tell him otherwise. Zory may have taken a lot of grief about being small, but he could be downright vicious when he wanted to be.  
  
"I'm not gonna argue with you, but someone needs to stay with him, and you're barely holding up as it is."  
  
The blonde blinked, incredulous. "You mean, you just left him standing there?"   
  
"Well, it was either that, or let you drop your arm off."  
  
"Thanks." Zoisite looked back at Mamoru, who was standing in the middle of the chaos and looking entirely perplexed. He hesitated for a moment as Nephrite blocked a well-placed kick from Harmony.   
  
"Just hurry up and go!" Nephrite commanded. "It wouldn't do for all of us to be too distracted by fighting to actually protect the person we're fighting for." With a resigned sigh, Zoisite took off towards the black-haired Prince.  
  
Mamoru met him part way, for which the blonde was immensely thankful. As much as he would have liked to finish that little fight, he knew that he was more than a little beaten up, and running was certainly not helping the matter any. He winced as the Prince inspected his arm, which was now soaked in blood.  
  
"This is pretty deep, Zoisite. I'd better heal it right away."  
  
"I didn't come here for you to heal me, Prince. I just thought you might like some company."  
  
"Oh, I cherish every moment we spend together." Mamoru's hands immediately started glowing. "Hold still while I do this, or I make out with you to keep you from moving."  
  
"...You're quite the interesting one for threats, Prince."  
  
"I do what I have to."  
  
Obviously not wanting to risk a tongue-lock in the middle of a heated battle, Zoisite stood silently, impatiently as his prince worked his magic.   
  
"Relax," Mamoru said, smiling. "I'm not going to drain myself, okay? Nothing good will come if your arm falls off or you bleed to death."  
  
"Aren't you going to feel silly if you faint later because of this?" Zoisite raised an eyebrow. "Because I'll be sure to make you feel silly."  
  
"Your compassion is long and wide, Zoisite, but I'm not particularly concerned about that right now."   
  
Mamoru expertly ran his fingers along the gaping wound, working with the golden glow around him. There was a cry of "Chronos Typhoon!" followed by an anguished yelp from Kunzite. Almost at that same moment, Mamoru doubled over, nearly screaming himself.   
  
"Prince! Are you alright?"  
  
Mamoru dimly shook his head. He had felt that! Kunzite was halfway across the lawn, but somehow, he could feel his pain. //No, not just Kunzite's. Everyone's.// It was as though someone had flipped a switch to turn on senses he was not even aware that he had. He could feel, without knowing how, which pain belonged to who. He could feel the throb in Zoisite's arm, the many aches in Nephrite's chest, the burns on Jadeite's skin, and the countless bruises that covered Kunzite's body. Maybe it was because he was using the Golden Crystal, but somehow, his power, his psychometry, whatever he could call it, was stretching far beyond his normal abilities.  
  
And if there was anything worse than watching his guardians get the snot beaten out of them, it was feeling it as keenly as he were in all four places at once. It was too much. He couldn't stand seeing it, and he definitely couldn't stand feeling it like a human pincushion. Enough of this damn standing around.  
  
He let go of the blonde's arm, which had healed enough to keep him from dying within the next twenty minutes. He'd have to finish it up later.  
  
Zoisite saw Mamoru scanning the battle, obviously looking for a place he could help. "Prince, just hold off a few more minutes, okay? We've got this covered."  
  
Mamoru glared pointedly at Zoisite's arm. "Oh yeah, that's what I call 'covered,' alright."  
  
He turned back to the battle, watching the three individual fights that were taking place in scattered pairs across the lawn. Jadeite was relying heavily on his water dragon to protect him from Miniya's various long-distance attacks. Unfortunately, it only held up against one attack at a time before being destroyed in a splatter of droplets, and for every one of Miniya's blasts of orange energy that the dragon blocked, the blonde himself was hit at least two more times.   
  
Nephrite was holding up well enough against Harmony, considering he was twice her size but completely unarmed, but Mamoru could feel his earlier wounds slowing him down, and he had several fresh gashes from the pretentious child.   
  
Kunzite seemed to be in the worst shape. Neither he nor Sanura had so much as paused for breath since she had taken the first swing at him. No sooner would one gain the advantage then the other would jump up swinging, and they would again return to their perpetual combat, too closely locked in battle to even notice the others fighting around them.  
  
Zoisite sighed quietly, stepping in front of Mamoru's line of vision. "Prince, just relax, okay? Getting hurt is just what happens in battle--you, of all people, should know--and worrying about them isn't going to help."  
  
Of course, the black-haired man totally disregarded everything he had just been told when Nephrite screeched loudly in pain. Mamoru let out a scream of his own--he could feel that slash as keenly as if it was his own body. The wound went all the way across the brunette's chest, quickly soaking his white uniform crimson as he frantically tried to clamp his hands on it in an attempt to keep from bleeding to death.  
  
That was more than enough for Mamoru. He was done with waiting, and he was done with letting his friends get hurt. Every warrior on the battlefield paused in midstep as the frathouse lawn flooded with blinding golden light. "Prince, no!" Zoisite shouted, trying to hold back the black-haired man. With a forceful shove, Mamoru dislodged the blonde and charged towards Harmony, fury burning golden in his eyes.   
  
The little girl was bent over Nephrite, the tip of her Glaive against his throat. Mamoru knew very well how it felt to be at the business end of that weapon, and the sight of one of his guardians being in the same position only served to double his anger. Before he had covered half the distance, his hand shot out. "Tuxedo Mirage!"   
  
Harmony glanced up--far too late--and caught sight of the stream of golden light charging towards her. Her childlike smile faded into a look of absolute fear, and for a fraction of a second the Prince could see her large dark eyes staring past the attack and into his. She vanished in a burst of light and shimmering dust, just as Mamoru snatched the Glaive out of her hands and away from Nephrite's Adam's apple.  
  
Nephrite let out a great sigh of relief when the pointy blade moved from his line of sight. Mamoru looked at him with no small amount of concern, and quickly said, "Don't die in the next five minutes, okay?" before turning on his heels, menacing gleam in his eye. He twirled the Glaive in his hand as though he knew exactly how to wield it.  
  
Kunzite and Sanura were still at each other's throats, having stopped for barely more than half a second to allow their eyes to adjust to the light. Wielding the Silence Glaive in both hands, Mamoru raced towards the two, ignoring shouted protests from both Zoisite and Jadeite.   
  
"Kunzite, duck!" he bellowed, swinging the weapon as though he had been using it his entire life. The tangled head of silver hair dropped to the ground, moments before the blade sliced through where Kunzite's back had been, straight into Sanura's chest.  
  
The mohawked clone choked in surprise, her crimson eyes growing wide. Her dark hands felt along the Glaive's long handle, as though feeling to see if it was really there. She wheezed, looking up at Mamoru, an ironic sort of smile on her face. "Been... nice knowin' ya... Prince..."  
  
"I wish I could say the same." With the woman speared roughly on the Glaive, she was an immobile target, and Mamoru used this to his advantage. "Tuxedo Mirage!"  
  
Sanura inhaled sharply; considering she was already gored through and through, the blast of light wasn't really any more painful. It was just a surprise, of sorts, but she didn't have long to reflect on it. Within seconds, her body disintegrated, leaving nothing but a little blood on the Glaive.  
  
Kunzite stood up slowly, brushing the equivalent of Moondust! from his jacket. "Glad to see you're having fun."   
  
Mamoru sneered at the comment. He would not exactly categorize the vaporizing of psychotic female clones in order to protect his friends from certain death as "fun".   
  
Kunzite watched his Prince warily. He did not need a special connection with him to see that he was seething. "I know you're angry..."  
  
"That's an understatement," Mamoru snapped.  
  
"...But you know why we're doing this. You know why."  
  
"Yeah, I do. And that's what frustrates me so much. You're all so bloody eager to protect me in this battle, there won't be any of you left for the next one." As he spoke, pain suddenly exploded in Mamoru's chest, nearly knocking the wind from his lungs. He turned anxiously towards Jadeite. The blonde had not even screamed that time.  
  
"Please, Prince," Kunzite said softly, grabbing a glowing arm. "You've already taken care of two of them. Just let us get the last one, alright?"   
  
Mamoru sighed, relenting. "Fine. You go take care of the last one. I have to make sure Nephrite hasn't bled out."  
  
"Yes. You go do that, Mister Med Student. We'll go toast her." Before his prince could argue, Kunzite let go of his arm and turned abruptly on his heels, already powering up to decimate the last of the clones.  
  
With another sigh, Mamoru turned his attention back to the bleeding brunette.  
  
"You're pretty good with that thing, Prince," Nephrite said, after a furious coughing fit. "You sure you're not meant to be the Senshi of Death and Rebirth?"  
  
"Shut up or I stick my hand in your chest cavity," the black haired man muttered, glowing hands hovering over the gaping wound.  
  
Obviously not enjoying the mental image of someone touching his internal organs, the brunette sat silently, watching Mamoru heal him for the second time that day. When the black-haired Prince had finished, he heaved a sigh of relief, grateful to be able to breathe again. "Thanks again, Prince. I owe ya for this."  
  
"You don't owe me anything, Nephrite." Mamoru offered him a hand, which the brunette gladly accepted, and helped him to his feet. "Just stop getting hurt so much. You're almost as bad as Kunzite."  
  
"I heard that!" Kunzite shouted, planting his elbow in Miniya's gut to get away from the death grip around his neck.  
  
"Oh, you know it's true," Zoisite shot back, still nursing his nearly removed arm. "Mister 'I Think I'll Take a Silence Glaive to the Gut.'"  
  
"It was either--ow!--the Prince or myself," he grunted, rubbing his jaw as the blonde clone circled him. "I'll take my chances."  
  
"That's what I worry about," Mamoru muttered.  
  
"Heard that, too."  
  
"You know, you're listening an awful lot for someone who should be concentrating on staying alive."  
  
"Hey, haven't you ever heard of multitasking?" He groaned as Miniya jumped on his back, wrapping two exceptionally long arms around his neck. "Someone wanna get her off of me?"  
  
"Duck."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Just do it!" Nephrite left no room for argument. Kunzite did just as he was told - he ducked his head and tried to curl away from the woman who was holding him as a giant, translucent tiger bore down, teeth bared, and sent Miniya flying. The white-haired man was abruptly sent to the ground, no longer being assaulted from behind.  
  
"Thanks," he panted, glad that he was able to breathe again.   
  
"Don't mention it."  
  
Kunzite turned to watch the huge feline as it mauled the hapless blonde. Miniya made attempts at fighting back, but her punches and kicks struck only air, making it an entirely one-sided battle. "I think he could use some help, don't you?" Kunzite smirked as the world turned black.  
  
"Aw shit, not again!" Jadeite groaned.  
  
Miniya echoed the sentiment, from underneath the invisible paw of the wind tiger. She shouted out various curse words at the tortoise bearing down upon her, but the giant black hole of a creature just blinked placidly at her. With one fluid movement, it jumped into the air, and sat on the blonde clone.  
  
More obscenities were screamed from underneath the giant tortoise, but it just sat there serenely, oblivious to the fact that it was a) not physically a tortoise, in actuality, and b) was going to dissipate in a few seconds.  
  
"That thing's got some odd fighting tactics, Kunzite," Zoisite said nervously, carefully avoiding a massive black fin.  
  
"Death by tortoise. I think that's gotta be listed in the Darwin Awards somewhere." Jadeite blinked up at the enormous head, which was making a slow, gentle swivel around to watch the tiny creatures cowering below it. It grinned its tranquil, turtlish sort of grin, irridescent light refracting off of the wrinkled ebony skin with a spectral quality that seemed to encompass a thousand different colors at once.   
  
With a quiescent wink, the creature dissipated as before, with the whispered rush of wispy shadows.   
  
Miniya groaned plantively, writhing on her back. That damn tortoise packed a punch, which was altogether surprising, because of just that: it was a tortoise. Tigers, she could understand. But a really, really big turtle? It was mind-boggling.  
  
"Are you quite finished," Mamoru asked mildly, "or do you intend to maim her any more?"  
  
Kunzite looked at the blonde clone on the ground, who was so weak she couldn't even move from her embarassing position by which everyone in a ten foot radius could see under her, albeit very small, skirt.  
  
"I'm done," Kunzite said, nodding firmly.   
  
"Good." With very little fanfare, Mamoru held out a glowing hand towards the mangled blonde. "Tuxedo Mirage!" In a flurry of golden light and sparkles, Miniya was put out of her misery, leaving behind only a bed of crushed grass where the tortoise had squished her.  
  
"Wow, three of them dead and you're still fully conscious." Kunzite smirked as the the light surrounding Mamoru vanished. "I think that's a new record."  
  
"Do you want me to hurt you? Because I could really hurt you right now." The black haired Prince massaged his temple. All things considered, he would rather be asleep right now.   
  
"Well, we were in the middle of quite the interesting situation of male bonding earlier." The uniform, the cape, all faded away, and with the tiniest puff of wind, Kunzite was just Malachi again. "And I don't think we quite finished."   
  
"'Male bonding.' That's a nice euphamism." Jed sidestepped Zory as the feminine blonde attempted to slap him, but he didn't account for being unceremoniously tripped by Mamoru. He fell rear-first, knocking his head on the pavement just hard enough to cause a brief spike of pain.  
  
The three standing Shitennou eyed the black-haired man with incredulity.  
  
Mamoru looked at them and shrugged. "He was asking for it."  
  
Neff laughed, giving Mamoru a pat on the back. "Our Prince is growing up."  
  
"I didn't find it particularly amusing," Jed sulked on the ground. "It's bad enough dodging the three of you."  
  
The look on the blonde's face was too amusing for words, and Mamoru could not help but join in the laughter. His smile faded, however, when he felt an odd sort of sensation, like a tingle on the back of his neck. It was not altogether unpleasant, but he was quickly learning to trust his senses, and any new feeling made him feel uneasy.  
  
"...Mamochan...."  
  
Mamoru's heart quickened. He felt it more than he heard it, a sort of whisper at the back of his mind.   
  
"Mamochan...."  
  
It couldn't be. It couldn't possibly be her. But that voice...  
  
"Mamochan..."  
  
The air around Malachi suddenly seemed to drop about twenty degrees in temperature. He could feel it; there was a presence with them, and it spelled trouble with a capital T. And R-O-U-B-L-E, for that matter.  
  
He looked warily to his left; Zory's back was stick straight, eyes darting back and forth like a nervous bird. The blonde felt it, too. Something wrong.  
  
Neff helped Jed to his feet. The brunette peered out from under an errant strand of hair. Cold. Very cold all of a sudden.  
  
Jed felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. The four of them just reeked of fear. They weren't quite sure what to be afraid of at that moment, but they knew the time to rejoice in the Prince's lack of unconsciousness had been fleeting. Back to business as usual.  
  
"Mamochan, you dense idiot, turn the hell around already and look at me!"  
  
Unable to do anything else, Mamoru dazedly obeyed. The area immediately behind him was empty, but he thought he heard movement just around the corner of the frathouse. A few wisps of golden hair trailed in the breeze. A single, gloved hand rested on the wall. As he watched, a winged creature like something out of a storybook emerged from behind the building, a goddess with golden hair and eyes like twin sapphires. Mamoru's heart jumped into his throat. Maybe this was a dream. Maybe he had lost consciousness after all. But it seemed so much like her.  
  
"Usako..."  
  
The fact that she looked different from how he remembered did not matter to him. He did not notice that her wings were not pure white, but a dull, empty black. Nor did he care to see that her hair was not in its trademark odango, but hung loose around her shoulders, or that the colors of her uniform were all off. All that he saw was the girl he had missed so much, the fiance he had been longing to see. All that he saw was her.  
  
"Prince, are you sure..." Malachi said warily. He knew that Sailor Moon had gone through quite a few upgrades since he had last seen her, and surely the black-haired man would know his own fiancé. But he could not shake the feeling that this woman was something to be feared.  
  
Whatever the white-haired guardian had intended to say next would have been lost on deaf ears, had it even been said at all.  
  
"Happy to see me, Mamochan?" The woman who had been addressed as Usako smiled, sweetly but with a twitch of something sinister at the ends of it. Mamoru didn't notice. All he saw was his beloved, and everything that seemed wrong about the moment was totally lost on his senses. In no less than five seconds, he had completely lost it.  
  
"Come on, what are you waiting for?" She impatiently stomped her foot in the loosely packed dirt. "Hug me!"  
  
The black-haired man didn't have to be told twice. He rushed forward, brushing rudely past Zory who nearly lost his own balance and only kept from falling over by collapsing onto Malachi.  
  
"That's not her," the blonde whispered into Malachi's shoulder. "She doesn't feel right. She makes my skin itch like all those other clones."  
  
"I know, Zory." Malachi watched the woman masquerading as Sailor Moon with narrowed green eyes. "I know. But do you want to get in the way of that?"  
  
Zory couldn't see what "that" was, but if he was assuming a giant bear hug, he would have been correct. Mamoru had latched onto her with the force of an industrial vice grip.  
  
"Slower than a brick, aren't you, Mamochan?" she said quietly, stroking his hair with gloved fingers. "Adorable, but slow."  
  
"Usako..." Mamoru whispered into her hair, breathing in the exotic, fruity smell of her shampoo. Suddenly, all the terrible things he had ever done to her melted away, leaving only the beautiful woman in his arms. Nothing else in the world mattered to him at that moment. He had his Usako back.  
  
"We can't let this go on," Neff muttered, shaking his head slowly. "I don't care if the Prince kills me for it later; she shouldn't be allowed anywhere near him."  
  
"Try telling him that," Jed said darkly.   
  
It would take a crowbar to make Mamoru loosen his grip on the blonde woman, who was only encouraging the situation. "Kiss me, Mamochan. Don't you want to kiss me?"  
  
"Of course," he said dumbly. So overwhelmed was he by her presence that he was having difficulty even thinking to do something as simple as that.  
  
So kiss her he did, and what a kiss it was. He was so full of elation--Malachi had been right, Usako had come back to him, for Hell or mad Senshi (which was perhaps redundant)--that nothing wrong about the situation could phase him. His blood was pounding furiously, exploding from his heart to his head and back again. His lips were on top of hers with such passion, the Shitennou finally had to look away for embarassment.  
  
"I knew there was a horn dog under there somewhere," Jed muttered, staring furiously at his shoes.  
  
Not to give the impression that the kiss was one-sided, she was kissing back just as forcefully. Eventually, they had to pause for air.  
  
"Do you love me, Mamochan?" she breathed, small chest heaving from all the effort.  
  
"Yes, oh yes, a thousand times yes." He'd had enough of this talking stuff, and before she could get any more words out, he'd tackled her for another kiss.  
  
"This would be really cute if I didn't have the inexplicable urge to kill her," Neff growled, grinding the knuckles of one hand into the palm of the other to keep himself from ripping the two mad hot lovebirds apart.  
  
The Usagi-lookalike had to physically take his head in both hands and pull it away from her in order to speak again. "You truly love me, Mamochan?" She asked sweetly, gazing up into his deep blue eyes.  
  
"Of course I do. You know I do." Without so much as a pause, he pushed past her hands and back to her lips.  
  
The Shitennou threw each other nervous glances. Every inch of their senses was screaming that this was all wrong and that they needed to put an end to it immediately. But for all that, only one thing held them all back. This was the happiest they had seen their Prince in days. The happiest they had ever seen him, really. No one wanted to be the one to shatter that happiness. No one wanted to be the one to break it to him that it was all a lie, that his Usako was lying in a hospital bed back in Tokyo, just as angry at him as ever.   
  
Finally, even Mamoru had to concede that he was out of breath, and he settled for leaning heavily on the Usagi look-alike, face buried in the crook of her neck. His nerves were on fire; he was beside himself. Oh, Usako was here, and everything would turn out!  
  
"Would you die for me, Mamochan?"  
  
"In a heartbeat," he said softly, looking up into the woman's deep blue eyes. He held her face carefully in his hands, taking it all in.   
  
"Do you promise?"  
  
It didn't really matter what his answer to the question was, because he didn't even get to form one.  
  
"Starlight Honeymoon Therapy Kiss!"  
  
Four voices cried out as Mamoru was thrown backwards nearly ten feet before colliding with the brick wall of the frat house. When the dust and glitter settled, the black-haired man lay in a heap among the rubble, a cavernous dent carved into the wall behind him as though someone had tried to drive a pickup through it.   
  
The clone smiled sweetly, clutching her bizarre rendition of the Moon Tier between her gloved hands. "I'll take that as a yes."  
  
Her smile was forced to vanish immediately after, because at that moment it had a very close encounter with Malachi's fist.  
  
The blonde stumbled back, but did not seem at all upset by this. Indeed, she grinned viciously up at the white-haired man, not seeming to notice the tiny trickle of blood from her lips. "Oh my, looks like I've gone and upset you."  
  
"Damn straight you did," Malachi snarled, lashing out to punch her again. The blonde smiled and caught the punch before it came to her face.  
  
"Getting slow, aren't you?" she chirped, before slamming her Tier into Malachi's gut with absolutely no remorse whatsoever.  
  
While that fight went on, Jed and Neff immediately ran to the side of the frat house, trying to seperate their prince from the heap of brick and mortar that had fallen on him. They hoped to every god and goddess they knew of that he hadn't been crushed to death.  
  
Finally, after removing the first layer of rubble, they found his hand sticking out. Moving ever faster, they pulled Mamoru the rest of the way. His breathing was shallow, ragged, but at least it was happening at all.   
  
"C'mon, Prince," Jed said nervously, trying to keep his voice from cracking. "C'mon. Wake up, dammit."  
  
He propped the black-haired man up against a more stable corner of the frat house, and shook him lightly in the hopes that he would come around.   
  
Neff slid a hand behind Mamoru's head to hold it steady, and was horrified when his fingers came in contact with a sticky mass of blood and black hair. "Oh God, Prince, hold on."  
  
As the Usagi-clone swung her Tier around to clobber Malachi, a hand took hold of a mass of blonde hair and gave a brutal yank, wrenching her head fiercely back. "Hurts, don't it love?" Zory gave another hard tug, unceremoniously throwing the girl to the ground.  
  
Somewhere in a sea of pain, Mamoru could hear the ensuing fight. Someone was shouting curses, someone was throwing punches. But it hurt far too much to breathe, let alone open his eyes to see what was going on. He became aware that someone was calling his name, shaking him, but all the sounds had become an unintelligible mess.  
  
The blonde launched herself at Zory, fingers extended and firmly intent on grabbing his hair. But the feminine boy was faster, and he ducked just in time, launching himself at her midsection. They both plowed to the ground, and Zory wasted not a moment to start furiously pounding at her face.   
  
"You disgusting abomination!" he shouted, grabbing her hair and slamming her head on the ground. "How dare you trick him like that! How DARE you!"  
  
"Whas' going on?" Mamoru said, so quiet he may as well have avoided straining his vocal cords. Everything hurt. His chest hurt, his head hurt, his back hurt, and his arms and legs were tingling. All in all, not a good situation.  
  
"We're having a, er, problem." Jed turned his head to regard the fight behind him, and tried not to laugh at Zory's valiant attempt to be manly. Turning back to his prince, his smile dissolved. "Mamoru, can you open your eyes for me?"  
  
The effort it required was momentous at least, but Mamoru finally did it, clouded blue eyes looking at Jed in confusion and panic.   
  
"Who's fighting over there?" he slurred, having a very difficult time keeping up this work of open eyes.  
  
"Where are you hurting, Prince?" Neff thought to abruptly change the subject; if Mamoru found out it was their compatriots and "Usako" fighting, he'd go batshit.  
  
Considering how much effort it would take to list the many parts of his body that were screaming in pain, Mamoru summed it all up with a muttered "everywhere." Even that felt like the reciting of an epic, for all the strength it took to do it.   
  
In the midst of severely beating the crap out of the fake Sailor Moon, Zory failed to see the Tier swinging up at him. It struck him hard in his side, knocking the wind from his lungs and forcing him to pause for a few fatal moments. The woman's other fist slammed straight into his stomach, and Zory doubled over painfully. She easily shoved him off of him, a triumphant smirk on her face.  
  
As the clone began to rise, a knee slammed sharply down into her chest, pinning her to the ground. "You're not going anywhere," Malachi snarled.  
  
It was no use. Keeping his eyes open took far too much effort. Mamoru's head dipped forward as his eyelids began to slide shut.  
  
"No, Prince!" Jed shouted, giving Mamoru a sound shake. "You have to stay awake!"  
  
"I'm so tired," the Prince slurred, barely able to keep himself conscious long enough to say it.  
  
"Prince, does the word 'concussion' mean anything to your pre-med brain? Perhaps 'spinal injury?'" Neff snapped. "Don't, for the love of God, go to sleep!"  
  
"Don' go spouting med'cal terminologicaly at me, Neff," Mamoru snapped, sounding more like he was drunk than concussed. "'M just fine, 'cept that I hurt and I need to sleep."  
  
"Yeah, you're just fine," Neff retorted. "You sound like you just spent Margarita Monday with us, which I can assure you, is most definitely NOT fine come Tuesday morning."  
  
The Tier swung for Malachi's head, but he grabbed it just as it was about to collide with his temple. The two struggled for control of the oversized wand, but while she may have been more powerful, he had an obvious physical advantage, and eventually managed to wrench it out of the clone's grasp. He triumphantly held it over his head, well out of her reach. "Let's see how much trouble you can cause without your little toy."  
  
"You're gonna regret doing that," the blonde clone chided, a devious look in her eye. She arched her head back to increase her volume and let out a tremendous, screeching, "MAMOCHAN!"  
  
"Usa!" Seeming to forget that he had been crushed by a building not ten minutes ago, Mamoru nearly leapt out of his skin. He tried to pull himself upright, but between his injuries and the two men holding him down, he was not altogether successful.   
  
"Prince, calm down! Listen to me!" Neff tried to hold him still, but Mamoru, frail though his attempts were, was putting up a fight.  
  
"Usa's in trouble!" Mamoru said frantically, struggling as his two friends kept him pinned to the ground. "What are you doing? I have to go help her! She's going to get hurt!"  
  
"Oh, you're damn right she is," Malachi growled. The look in his eyes would have caused any mere mortal to piss their pants, but she didn't blink an eye. That is, until they briefly flashed grey.  
  
Zory saw it before the blonde did. He ran up behind Malachi, putting a fragile hand on his friend's shoulder.  
  
"Take it easy, Malachi. She isn't worth that. Don't let that Kunzite take over."  
  
Malachi glared down at the woman a moment longer, steel-silver eyes locked on hers with the force of an industrial-strength vice. Eventually he took a long, shaky breath, and the grey irises softened into their familiar green. "You're right. She isn't worth it."  
  
Zory sighed with relief. Of all the things that could happen, having Evil Bastard Kunzite appear in their midst was definitely not among his top five favorite events. The clone, for some bizarre reason, looked relieved herself. No one wanted the wrath of the other Kunzite on them, it seemed.  
  
"Lemme go! She needs me!" Mamoru writhed beneath his friends' grips.  
  
"Prince, listen to me!" Jed said sharply, trying to get his attention. "That's not your Usagi! She's just another clone!" His words fell on deaf ears. Suddenly there was no other thought in Mamoru's mind except that his Usako needed him, and that he had to get to her at all costs.   
  
In his franticness, he managed to see past Neff's shoulder for a brief moment, just long enough to catch a glimpse of his beloved being pinned to the ground by his best friend.   
  
"What's going on?!" he shouted, his voice near panic. "Why is he hurting her?"  
  
"Because," Neff explained, as though he were trying to describe astrophysics to a five-year-old, "she hurt you first. Malachi doesn't like that. You know, we're kinda picky guardians like that."  
  
"No, she didn't mean it! She was..." Mamoru didn't really know, exactly, what she'd been intending to do, but that was beside the point. "I don't want Malachi to hurt her!"  
  
"Mamochan!" the blonde shouted, jumping up and down as Malachi teasingly held her Tier over her head just out of her grasp. "He's being mean to me! I need my Tier back, Mamochan!"  
  
"Usa!" Mamoru once again attempted to sit up, but Jed and Neph both pushed him firmly back against the wall.  
  
"Prince, please stop struggling," Jed pleaded. "You're going to hurt yourself."  
  
Mamoru gritted his teeth. He'd had quite enough of being helpless while his Usa was in trouble. This time, he was going to save her. No matter what--or who--stood in his path, he would rescue his Usako.  
  
The two fratboys exchanged hopeful glances as Mamoru began to take on a golden glow, rapidly healing his many wounds. If he was finally healing himself, he must have finally come to his senses.  
  
At least, that is what they thought. Right up until the point that he blasted both of them five feet into the air.  
  
Now, it should be noted that Zory was not one to throw curse words around lightly. Especially at his Prince.   
  
"What the fuck are you doing?!" the little blonde shrieked, turning abruptly on his heels as his friends came thumping back down to the pavement face first, groaning feebly and unable to move.  
  
"Give her wand back," Mamoru growled, getting to his feet in a hurry. He stalked over to Malachi, radiating fury.  
  
"What, so she can blast you again?" Malachi snapped, apparently not impressed or particularly concerned about getting clobbered. "I don't think so, Prince. Come on, hit me if you want. But I'm going to protect you from this woman, because she is not your Usako and she's danger--"  
  
The white-haired man didn't get to finish his thought. He was promptly blasted by a huge column of golden light, flying more than five feet into the air and landing on his back. There was a sharp crack as he came down; something was obviously broken.  
  
Zory, being perhaps the least phsyically capable of the whole lot, was petrified. He knew he would be critically injured if he took that kind of blow. His physique was light, not meant for high velocity trips through the air and the subsequent landings.  
  
"I said, give her wand back," Mamoru snarled again, glaring at both of them dangerously. He wavered on his feet, his clouded blue eyes obviously not seeing very clearly. Zory suspected that it had taken more than a concussion to confuse the dark-haired prince. There was something potent about that kiss.  
  
Malachi lay wheezing on the pavement, making futile attempts to rise. His right arm hung limply at his side, unmoving. He gripped the Tier in his other hand, green eyes glaring up at Mamoru through a curtain of white hair. "I mean this with the utmost respect when I say 'fuck you, Prince.'"  
  
"Told ya you'd regret it," the clone sang tauntingly down at Malachi, perfectly content to sit back and watch her Mamochan fight for her. "Mamochan, hurry up and get it for me!"  
  
Zory briefly considered blocking Mamoru's path, pulling his hair, doing something desperate to stop him before he gave the instrument of his more than probable demise back to the clone. Fortunately, he was saved by a brunette blur tackling the Prince, in a way one might expect out of a football player.  
  
"Zory, get that wand and get out of here," Neff snarled, desperately trying to keep his Prince pinned to the ground. Mamoru was, as could be expected, not particularly enthused about this. He bucked underneath Neff's weight, wrenching his arms out of the vice grip they were under. One hand lashed out and caught Neff by the throat, and in a flash their positions had reversed.   
  
Mamoru held the brunette down with all his weight centered on his wrist, and Neff quickly turned an unhealthy shade of purple. His hands frantically pulled at Mamoru's, desperately trying to pull it off, but with no success. Finally, Mamoru seemed unamused by his friend's feeble attempts at self-preservation and punched him squarely in the face with his free hand. It was quite the punch, too, because Neff immediately blacked out and went limp.  
  
Zory bit his lip as ever nerve and cell in his body screamed out to transform and go help his friend already.   
  
"Zory, catch!" From his position on the ground, Malachi threw the Tier at Zory in the hopes that he could catch it. It landed smartly at the blonde's feet, and just as he bent down to get his hands on it, he was blasted from behind. His head was smashed down on the pavement as the golden beam of light tore through, dragging him quite a ways away and flipping him over at least six times. Finally, the light dissipated and Zory stopped moving. There was a loud moan from across the courtyard, a safe indication that at least he'd lived through the blast. But it didn't sound--or look, even from a far perspective--like he'd make it much past that.  
  
"ZORY!" Malachi frantically tried to get to his feet, but he couldn't get his balance with only one arm, and managed only to collapse onto his face.  
  
Mamoru started across the yard, charging straight towards the injured blonde. A hand clamped around his ankle, sending him hurling onto the ground. He turned his head lopsidedly around to growl ferally at Malachi, whose hand held his foot like a vice. "Let go!"  
  
"You can kill me if you want, but I'd sooner die than let you give that filthy creature her weapon back," he growled from his position on the cement, sprawled out on his stomach with his damaged arm flung out in an unnatural position, completely useless to him.  
  
The dark-haired prince kicked his feet wildly, straining with his arms to pull away from the iron grasp. Despite his position, Malachi went right on clinging to him, refusing to give an inch.   
  
Zory groggily opened his eyes. He couldn't see anything, could barely hear much more. His body felt like one giant welt of pain with a nice heap of fear thrown in for good measure. There was one infinitely tiny ounce of hope in this whole situation--by some miracle, he still held the Tier between his bloodied fingers.  
  
Mamoru managed to roll himself onto his back, flipping an injured Malachi with him. The white-haired man refuse to let go, grasping with all the strength he had. His Prince suddenly lashed out with the foot attached to the ankle he was holding, and Malachi got a face full of shoe. The hit was so abrupt, and surprisingly powerful, that Malachi was forced to let go of Mamoru's foot. He cursed himself for not holding on, but he couldn't do any more.  
  
The black-haired man sprang to his feet, now unimpeded. Zory could hear his steps, faster and faster and more furious. //God, he's going to kill me. He's going to take the wand and then he's going to look down and just smother me.// He held onto the Tier as much as he could, hoping it would be a good way to go out. He was doing what was best: protecting his Prince, even when said Prince didn't understand it.  
  
But when Mamoru arrived at Zory's broken body, he couldn't bring himself to take the Tier. From out of his concussion-induced haze came one startling clear fact: he had done this. Zory was small, practically defenseless when not transformed and had just a firebird going for him when he was.   
  
The Prince's attack had practically decimated the blonde. He was looking up, sightless, blood vessels in his eyes burst from the pressure and the force of the blow. His clothing was ripped and burned and barely hanging on in places. His face had already begun to swell and bruise underneath a thin mask of blood, nose broken and at an unnatural angle. And he was holding onto the Tier with all the strength he had left.  
  
Zory tried his best not to whimper. He couldn't see his Prince, but he was imagining a sort of contemptuous grin, the likes of which had not been seen since Endymion's seldom discussed employment in the Dark Kingdom. Shuddering, he pulled the Tier closer. The only thought playing in his head was to protect the Prince. Self-preservation was beyond him now.  
  
"Zory..." Malachi wiped his face with his palm, unable to look. His fingers trailed along his cheek, coming in contact with something wet. Not blood, but tears. He was crying. That was new.  
  
They'd been doing so well, and now...Now what? Zory was going to die. His Prince was going to be killed as soon as the clone got her Tier back. And then she would either leave the rest of them to suffer or just wipe them off the face of the planet. He was kind of hoping for the latter.  
  
Jed moaned, rolling onto his side so he could face Malachi. He'd come back to consciousness, but he wasn't particularly thrilled about it. He could feel broken ribs grate at the his organs, slowly ripping holes in them. He probably had a concussion, and about fifteen minutes of life left.  
  
"This went to hell in a handbasket pretty fast, didn't it?" he coughed, a little blood coming up. Malachi made an unhappy noise of assent.  
  
Mamoru took a step towards Zory, but hesitated. It would be so simple to just reach out and grab the stick from his hand. The blonde might put up a fight, but considering his condition, he would be about as successful as a half-drowned kitten. If he did struggle too much, it would not be difficult to merely break his hand and pull the Tier from the limp fingers. It was so simple, so why didn't he just do it?  
  
A frail moan escaped Zory's lips. He had not expected his death to be this way. He had always been prepared to die for his Prince, of course. But he had hoped that when at last he would be reunited with him, he would get to be with him longer than a few days. It seemed so wrong, to finally find his Prince, only to be killed by him the very next day.   
  
//Prince... I wanted so much to be with you again. All those years we spent together back in the Silver Millenium... they were so long ago, but I still see them as clearly as if they happened yesterday. That was the happiest time in my life, Prince. Do you remember that? Do you remember how happy we were? I always thought that... if only we could get you back again...//  
  
Tears stung Zory's eyes, mixing with the blood on his face as they slid down into his matted copper hair. He couldn't help it. It wasn't just his life he was about to lose; it was that glimmer of happiness that he thought Mamoru could finally return to him. To all of them.  
  
//I thought that maybe... we could have that happiness back.//  
  
"Mamochan! What are you waiting for? Get the Tier and give it back to me!" The false Sailor Moon stood impatiently, hand on hip, watching the carnage with a sort of detached annoyance.  
  
Mamoru bent over Zory, reaching for the oversized wand, the normally shimmering surface of which was smeared with blood and dirt. As his fingertips brushed the tarnished surface, a weak sob made him stop short. His eyes strayed from his goal to the face of his friend. A face which, even through the blood and swelling, was contorted into a horrible combination of fear, anguish, and sorrow. The blonde's breath was coming in short, shaky gasps that made his entire body tremble. Tears streaked through the blood on his cheeks like tiny salty streams.  
  
"Zory..." Mamoru whispered beneath his breath. His mind was screaming at him to just grab the Tier already, but the sight of his smallest friend in this position made him unable to even move. Something was wrong. This was wrong. Zory's hurt. He's hurt, and he needs help.   
  
The effeminate boy fearfully recoiled as Mamoru laid a gentle hand on his forehead. "Shh, it's okay Zory." He pulled the smaller man into his lap, cradling his blonde head in his arm.  
  
"Mamochan, what are you doing?" The clone shouted angrily.  
  
"Zory needs help," Mamoru muttered dimly, sounding as though he was barely awake.  
  
"Mamochan, we don't have time for that! Just get me my wand!" the clone huffed, sounding almost pouty. "They were trying to hurt me, Mamochan!"  
  
"Zory needs help," Mamoru reiterated, trying to focus on that one thing.  
  
"Malachi, I can't see what's going on. Has he...did we get him back?" Jed looked at Malachi expectantly; while he was agonizing over the fact that beating Zory to the point of death was what did it, he clung desperately to the hope that Mamoru was waking up.   
  
"He's coming around," Malachi said quietly. "I just hope it's not too late."  
  
"Prince?" Part of Zory was still afraid Mamoru was going to take this opportunity to crush his head, but his moment of deluded rage had passed, and he was now focused on keeping his friend alive.  
  
Mamoru wiped some of the blood out of his friend's face. "It'll be okay, Zory. I'm going to help you."  
  
Zory seriously hoped that his Prince was telling the truth, considering that he was laying helplessly in his arms, completely blind and too weak to move. He could not begin to express his relief when he felt a golden sort of warmth surround him, soothing his aching body.   
  
"Mamochan, stop it!" The clone stomped her foot irritably. "You're wasting my time!"  
  
"Would you shut the hell up?" Jed groaned, eyeing the clone with distaste.  
  
"I have to help Zory first, Usa," Mamoru said softly. "He's hurt." His brain was apparently glossing over the key bit of information that explained it was his fault that Zory was hurt, but it apparently didn't matter.  
  
Slowly, as though someone turned on all the lights with a dimmer switch, Zory's eyesight returned. His blood vessels began to mend, broken bones knitting back together, nose reset back in its normal position. The glow dimmed a little, and except for the swelling, the bruises and the spilled blood, the last vestiges of his other injuries were gone.   
  
"Prince, you can't give this to her," he said, looking up at Mamoru with still a little trepidation. He was okay now, and that probably meant he was going back to helping "Usako."  
  
"But she needs it." Mamoru was totally perplexed. Why couldn't Usako have her Tier back?  
  
"But she's going to hurt you."  
  
"That's no concern of yours." The clone towered over them both, wings creating ugly shadows, blonde hair obscuring her face as she leaned over. "You're just going to sit her like a good boy while I get back my wand, or I'll blast you straight through the face. And that'd be sad, because you have a pretty face."  
  
Mamoru looked up at her, almost frightened. "Usa, what--?"   
  
The clone reached out a gloved hand to caress his face, the soft fingertips sending a small shiver down his spine. "Dear Mamochan, don't you worry your pretty little head about it. It'll all be over soon, Mamochan. I promise."  
  
He relaxed beneath her touch, letting out a small, relieved sigh. Everything would be okay. It wasn't okay before, but it would be okay now. Usa was here. Zory was safe. She just needed the Tier, and then everything would be okay again. Usa wouldn't hate him anymore and he could explain everything to her and then everything would be good again.  
  
Zory watched the exchange with no small amount of trepidation. As the realization dawned on him that his Prince was just as unstable as ever, his first instinct was to get up and bolt. Only problem was, he was currently lying in Mamoru's arms, and he could see no subtle way of getting out of said arms without throwing the black-haired man into another blind rage.   
  
"Zory," Mamoru said, tearing his still clouded eyes off of his so-called beloved to look down at the blonde, "I need that Tier back."  
  
Zory closed his eyes. "I can't give it to you, Prince. I really, really can't. She's going to hurt you."  
  
//She's going to hurt me, too, but that's just unavoidable today. I want to minimize the casualties. The longer I hold on, the more likely it is that you'll come around. You'll see her for what she really is, Prince.//  
  
"Malachi?" Jed tried to roll over; once had been enough for his body, and he immediately ceased trying.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Can you move?"  
  
"Can you?"  
  
"...Zory's gonna die after all, isn't he?"  
  
"Excuse me, I can hear you!" the little blonde shouted. "I didn't need reminding, thank you."  
  
Mamoru's brow furrowed. "You're not going to die, Zory. I healed you. And Usa just needs her Tier back."  
  
"But I can't give it to her. And I can't give it to you, because you'll give it to her. So one of you is going to kill me to get it back."   
  
Mamoru's brow furrowed. "You're not going to die, Zory. I healed you. And Usa just needs her Tier back."  
  
"But I can't give it to her. And I can't give it to you, because you'll give it to her. So one of you is going to kill me to get it back."   
  
The black-haired prince stared at him confusedly. "Kill you? Usa wouldn't hurt you, Zory. You're my friend. You know I wouldn't hurt you, right?"  
  
"I'm not so sure about that, Prince," Zory said softly, pulling the Tier close to him, both hands squeezing the handle in a white-knuckled grip.   
  
"What are you doing? I need that. I need to give it to Usa. I need to help her, Zory. Don't you understand that?"  
  
Zory silently shook his head. Maybe being healed had not been such a good thing, after all. At least when he was still injured, death had just been a hop, skip, and a jump away. Now he was just healthy enough for his death to be very, very painful.   
  
Neff groaned softly, apparently regaining consciousness.  
  
"Neff?" Jed tried to turn his head to face the auburn-haired man, but failed. "Are you awake?"  
  
The brunette blinked his reddish brown eyes up at the sky, reaching up a hand to clutch his swollen face. "Wha'd I miss?"  
  
"Zory almost dying and now preparing to die again."  
  
"Pardon?"  
  
"The Prince kicked the shit out of him," Jed said, his back to Neff because he still couldn't work up the energy to move. "He managed to keep her wand away from them both, but now they're both towering over him and one of them's going to snap."  
  
"Fuck." Neff hissed; his entire face throbbed when he touched it. Even the thought of sitting up made him ill. "What happened to Malachi?"  
  
"I'm over here with a broken shoulder." The white-haired man sighed. "We've royally fucked this up, guys. I want to be optimistic, but she's got him. His concussion has dulled his senses, and we all know how badly he wants to protect the Princess. It doesn't matter that she looks and feels wrong. She's enough like 'Usako' to confuse him. And no matter how much he'd deny it, he'd protect her over the four of us any day."  
  
Jed and Neff made similar noises, pain and agreement and defeat.  
  
"I should have just taken her out when I had the chance."  
  
//'She's not worth it.'//  
  
"No, Malachi, you did the right thing. It hurts to say that, knowing what's going to happen to the Prince, but..." Neff paused, collecting his thoughts. "But I don't want that Kunzite back. Ever. I want you as a leader, not that sadistic, cold-eyed bastard who punched me in the face if I didn't say his name and rank loud enough."  
  
"Hear, hear," Jed said quietly. "You didn't let him take over. For what it's worth, I'm proud of you."  
  
Malachi snorted bitterly. "My friend is about to be killed by my Prince. My Prince is about to be killed by an evil clone who looks like his fiancé. And through all this, we're so completely fucked up that we can't so much as bat an eyelash to help either of them. I could have stopped this in time and I didn't. Nothing about this situation makes me proud."  
  
"Yeah, you could've stopped it. And then what? Instead of him, we'd have you trying to gut us alive. Except you'd be twice as sadistic."  
  
Malachi was silent, his green eyes gazing at the equally green grass that his head was resting upon. His good hand dug into the earth, clenching and unclenching around the dirt, ripping up blades of grass by their roots. "But at least you'd still have him," he muttered at last.  
  
The other two were silent. This, at least, was true. Maybe, if the other Kunzite had killed Lunette and tried to kill the rest of them, maybe Mamoru could have escaped. Maybe he would have lived.  
  
"It's not too late," he said suddenly. "I could still do it. He... he doesn't feel pain like we do. He wouldn't be so weak. He could still do it."  
  
Jed turned his head to stare at the pavement. The option was still there. Malachi could bring him back. That Kunzite would kill the clone in seconds, wouldn't even flinch at any pain she or the Prince tried to inflict. But they had no way of knowing if they could pull Malachi back from that place. If they couldn't...If they couldn't, they'd have to kill him. He'd be a threat. And even if they did pull him back, he'd have all of the emotional baggage to deal with again, fresh and burning as if he'd just left the Dark Kingdom again. He wouldn't be able to live with himself. He'd either go insane or kill himself outright. There was no winning outcome for him.  
  
"I don't like the idea of being the Santennou, Malachi," Neff said, something unidentifiable creeping into his voice. "I don't like it at all. I can't stop you from doing this, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to save Mamoru by any means necessary. But I'm selfish." He pounded a fist on the pavement. "I'm selfish and I don't want to lose you! Nephrite is screaming inside of me; he doesn't want to lose Kunzite. But if you do this..."  
  
There was an awkward silence, as hot tears began to slip down Neff's cheeks.  
  
"We're going to die, one way or the other." Jed broke in finally, unable to stand it. "Either it happens when we lose Mamoru, or it happens when we lose you. And I can't pick, Malachi. I don't want to and I can't. I need both of you. I won't have one or the other. I...won't let you do this to yourself."  
  
With a cry of extreme pain and determination, he lunged to his feet, clutching his chest as he did so. Broken ribs or no, he was going out this way. On his feet, not whimpering in a fetal position.  
  
"Neff, you fucking pussy, are you getting up or not?" he snapped, a strange, brilliant light in his eyes as he glared at the brunette by his feet.  
  
Neff gaped up at him, completely dumbfounded. Suddenly a smirk broke out across his battered face, and with a force of will he did not know he had, the brunette shoved himself up off the ground. "Who are you calling a pussy, you bloody sissy?" He sneered, towering over the blonde.  
  
The clone nervously glanced over her shoulder. She didn't have much time left. "Mamochan, hurry up! Grab the Tier and hand it to me."  
  
"But... Zory won't give it to me." Mamoru answered, shaking his head disconcertedly at the blonde in his lap.  
  
"Oh fer... give it here!" The blonde woman reached out to snatch the Tier from Zory's hands, but pull as she might, the effeminate boy remained firmly attached to the weapon. "Mamochan, make him let go!"  
  
Malachi stared at both of them, a strange look in his eye. "Guys... you..." The words faltered on his lips, hanging unsaid between them.  
  
Jed wiped a trickle of blood from his face, looking down at his white-haired friend. "We're going to die either way, Malachi. Me, I'd rather go down swinging. And I'd rather be doing it with someone next to me."  
  
Neff tilted his head good-naturedly, as though he were chatting in the back of a pub, rather than in the midst of what would likely be their last battle. "C'mon, buddy. Hardest part's the first step."  
  
He bent over, hissing in pain all the way, to offer Malachi a hand up. The white-haired man looked up at him, and then over to Jed. He inhaled deeply and took Neff's hand.   
  
"Give it to me, you little snot!" the clone snarled, trying to wrench her Tier out of his grip.  
  
"I'm going to hold on until one of you kills me," Zory explained, tone neutral. His grip didn't waver, even for a millisecond. "You'll have to blow my brains out before I'll let go."  
  
The clone laughed. It was not a nice laugh. "That can be arranged."  
  
"But you have to get your Tier back first." Zory looked at Mamoru, everything about his face set in stone except his eyes. The look in his eyes was almost heartbreaking. //Please, Prince, can't you feel what's wrong? Would your Usako ever say things like that?//  
  
"Mamochan! Are you going to help me or not?"  
  
"Usa, maybe you should just let Zory have it. I don't think he wants to let go."  
  
The clone rounded on him, a vehement look in her eye. "Mamochan," she said lowly, dangerously, "if you do not get that Tier for me, I will no longer love you. I will leave you, Mamochan, do you hear me? I will leave you and you will never see me again and you will be sad and lonely for the rest of your miserable life."  
  
Malachi painfully pulled himself to his feet, leaning on Neff's arm much more than he had intended. His right arm was like a dead weight, hanging heavily at his side, but serving absolutely no purpose. He staggered slightly, but somehow managed to remain upright.  
  
"Quite a trio we make, huh?" Jed said with the faintest of laughs. "Maybe we can smother her to death by collapsing on top of her."  
  
Malachi gave him a small, weary smile. "My, what a valiant end that would make."  
  
Zory regarded Mamoru calmly. "You know that isn't true, Prince. Even if she leaves you, we never will. We will never, ever let you be lonely."   
  
"He's lying, Mamochan," the clone snapped. "You can't trust him as far as you could throw him, although you did throw him very far. I'm the only one you can trust, Mamochan. Do you understand?"  
  
Mamoru's eyes darted back and forth, desperately trying to make sense of the whole mess. Usako wouldn't lie, would she? But neither would Zory. Oh, it was far too difficult for his concussion-numbed brain to handle!  
  
"Mamochan? Do you understand or not?" The clone prompted.  
  
"I... I don't know..."   
  
"Well, if you can't be man enough to make a decision, I'll just have to take matters into my own hands." The blonde swung her leg high, and with one sharp kick, cracked the boy across the face with a red high-heeled boot. The Eternal Tier clattered to the ground as his hands went limp, landing next to the woman's feet. "There! That was easy."  
  
Mamoru stared up at her, suddenly feeling afraid but not quite understanding why. He was only vaguely aware of the fact that Zory was laying unconscious in his arms. "Usa...? Why did you do that?"  
  
"Dear Mamochan," she said sweetly, seeming to recover her "innocent girlfriend" act, "that doesn't matter now. What matters is that I have my Tier back. Come here, Mamochan. I want to give you something."  
  
"Zory!" Malachi couldn't see what had happened to the little blonde, but he was predicting that he wasn't going to like it. Before he could even run forward, maybe give the clone a very nice meeting with his fist, Jed grabbed his good arm.  
  
"No, not yet," he hissed. "She's got her wand back. We've gotta--"  
  
"We've gotta what? Wait for her to blow him through another wall?" Neff snarled. Apparently it was too much for his lungs, because his tirade was interrupted by deep, phlegm- and blood-filled coughs.  
  
After a moment and two very pointed looks of concern, he meekly added, "Okay, so maybe we wait."  
  
Mamoru put Zory down on the grass as he stood up, the smaller man flopping like a rag doll. He probably should have been much more concerned about what had just happened, but he wasn't, and the incident was seemingly forgotten. Usa was here, Usa still loved him, Usa wanted to give him something...  
  
"What is it, Usa?" he said, looking almost drunk as he got unsteadily to his feet.  
  
Her hand brushed the side of his face, the silken glove slithering across his skin as it slid around the back of his neck, drawing his head down next to hers. He tilted his mouth towards hers, expecting another kiss, but instead she rested her cheek against his, pulling his ear towards her tantalizing lips. "I have a secret for you, Mamochan," she breathed against his earlobe, making the man melt against her shoulder. "Would you like to hear it?"  
  
Neither seemed to notice that Zory still lay at their feet, little more than a blonde lump between them. If they had tried to stand any closer, one of them would likely have tripped over him.   
  
"Yes, Usa. Tell me."  
  
Suddenly an incredible pain exploded in Mamoru's abdomen, worse than anything he had ever felt before. His eyes widened in shock and agony, his mouth open in a scream of torment that refused to manifest itself.   
  
"Mamoru-kun, you never returned my call. That wasn't very nice of you." Lunette grinned, rows of sharp shark teeth bared at her prey. With a vicious yank, she pulled her blood soaked Tier back out of Mamoru's abdomen. "Of course, it doesn't make much difference now."  
  
"PRINCE!" Malachi wrenched his good arm away from Jed and broke into a run across the courtyard.  
  
Neff screamed out of frustration. "'No, not yet' he says! We could have stopped that!"   
  
"Fuck off, Neff. Just fuck off!" Jed tore off after Malachi, every step a grand effort. He had to pause twice just to catch his breath, and by the time Neff had caught up to him, Malachi was on top of the clone again. Mamoru had slumped over, wound the size of a softball all the way through his stomach. He was too weak to try and stop the bleeding.  
  
"Prince, hold on!" Jed sucked in a deep breath and bent over, moving Mamoru off of a still-unconscious Zory and to his side instead. He took his T-shirt off, revealing a disgusting rainbow of bruises and patches of broken skin. Undaunted, he pressed the shirt on Mamoru's abdomen to slow the bleeding down long enough for him to start healing.   
  
Lunette easily dodged Malachi's aimed blows, laughing maliciously. "You won't do much in your condition, dear. Maybe another day." Growling furiously, he took a swing for her head, but the clone abruptly vanished just as his fist was about to connect, leaving a trail of haunting laughter.  
  
"Zory, can you hear me? You need to wake up, buddy." The blonde groaned as Neff pulled him into a sitting position, pushing curly strands of hair out of his face.  
  
"Wha' happened? Where'd the Prince go?" Zory glanced dazedly around, attempting to get his bearings.  
  
"He's hurt, Zory. I need you to wake up so you can help us."  
  
"What?" Turning his head, he saw for the first time the pale figure who lay bleeding next to him. Realization kicked in as the blood drained from Zory's face. "I... oh, God, Neff... the Tier. I... I couldn't hang onto it."  
  
Malachi rushed past both of them and awkwardly knelt next to Mamoru, appearing calm and in control in every way except for the panicked look in his eyes.  
  
"He's not healing, Malachi," Jed said shakily. "Why isn't healing himself?"  
  
Malachi silently shook his head. He rolled the dark-haired Prince onto his back, gripping his bloodied hand with his good one. "Prince! Open your eyes, Prince. Look at me."   
  
Mamoru's eyes flickered open, staring dully up at the white-haired man. His skin had gone as pale as a sheet, only serving to emphasize the deep crimson blood that was steadily pumping out of his body. "I... I..."  
  
"Don't speak, Prince," Malachi ordered softly, squeezing his hand. Though both their hands were slick with sweat and blood, they gripped one another so tightly that their knuckles turned white. "Listen to me. You need to heal yourself, understand? You need to stop the bleeding."  
  
Mamoru vaguely shook his head. He was shaking all over, and even his lips were starting to look slightly blue.   
  
Frustrated, panicky and rightfully so, Malachi carefully touched what remained of Mamoru's abdominal cavity. He picked up a stain of blood on his hand, and then held it out. "Mamoru, this is what's happening to everything in the vicinity of your waist. If you don't stop it, you're going to die."  
  
From his back, Mamoru looked around at the mess. Neff had finally found the task of standing too great, and had by this time knelt by his Prince's side. Every now and then he coughed, discreetly wiping away whatever blood and mucus appeared on his lips. Well, he thought it was discreet, but no one was missing it. He was still bodily holding Zory up, and while the boy had seemingly recovered from the earlier incident, his face was still a mess and was now swelling on the other side where he'd met Lunette's foot.  
  
Jed nervously chewed on his lip, holding down his shirt on the wound with as much pressure as he dared give without putting his hands into Mamoru's intestines. His breathing was labored, no doubt from half a dozen broken ribs that had begun to rub against his lungs. The smattering of wounds and bruises on his chest only seemed to be getting worse as time went on. It didn't help that his expression was a very strange mixture of panic and "my dog just died."  
  
"Your arm..." Mamoru finally managed to wheeze, looking up at Malachi with no small amount of guilt. He never did guilt in small amounts. "What happened to your arm?"  
  
Malachi squeezed his hand reassuringly, though he was not sure which of them needed the reassuring. "It doesn't matter, Prince. What matters is that we all come away from this alive, and that's not gonna happen if you don't hurry up and take care of yourself."   
  
Mamoru was not listening. He again cast a confused glance around at his friends, his brain trying to make sense of their horrible injuries. They looked like extras from some World War II drama, except all those gashes, bruises, abrasions, and broken bones were not the result of stage makeup. They should have been in the ER, not sitting here worrying about him. But the worst part of all WAS that they were worried about him. Even through their bruised, swollen faces, the eyes that gazed out at Mamoru were filled with nothing but concern for him. Couldn't they see how hurt they were? They were so worried about him that they were putting their own injuries aside to help him. Even though... Even though...  
  
"I did this, didn't I?" he asked faintly, not noticing the hot tears that were rolling down his cheeks.  
  
All four of them exchanged a quick glance. There would be time for discussing all of that later; greater matters were at hand now.  
  
"Prince, don't worry about who did what. Worry about the fact that you're bleeding out and, forgive my lack of medical prowess, that you'll die in approximately ten minutes if you don't stop it." Malachi tried to get a rein on the extreme concern he knew his face was displaying, and on the tears that were burning away at the inside of his eyes. "Even if you do stop it, we may still need to take you to the hospital. Thank God we're at Stanford."  
  
"I'll drive," Neff attempted to say, but was seized by another coughing fit. Zory gently patted his back until the coughing subsided, looking a very interesting shade of ill at the mess that had appeared on his friend's face.  
  
Neff cleared his throat. "Um, anyone got a hanky?"  
  
"Take mine," Zory muttered, trying his best not to look at Neff's face or, for that matter, Mamoru's stomach. He was not altogether fond of bodily fluids, especially when they were outside the body.  
  
Malachi's words seemed to be completely lost on Mamoru. While he could see clearly enough what was wrong with his friends, his mind was having trouble comprehending the horrible condition he was in. Only one thing was on his mind: this was all his fault.  
  
"I'm so sorry," he whispered up at them, a tiny trail of blood falling from the corner of his mouth.  
  
Malachi could no longer stand it. He was through with trying to remain calm.  
  
"Prince, listen to me!" he growled furiously, leaning forward and lifting Mamoru's head with his hand so that his green eyes pierced directly into his Prince's blue ones. "You are dying, do you hear me? I don't care what you've done, I want you alive! I won't forgive you if you die, Prince!"  
  
"But I did this," Mamoru practically whimpered. "I hurt you because I was too blind to..."  
  
His eyes started to slide closed, sentence trailing off. He was losing blood a mile a minute; he wouldn't stay conscious much longer.  
  
"PRINCE!" Malachi's grip on his friend's head tightened violently, shaking him awake. "I don't care if you ripped my arm of and ate it! Heal yourself before I have to do it FOR you!"  
  
Jed's face scrunched in confusion. "We can do that?"  
  
"I sure hope so," Neff muttered, looking down at the borrowed hanky with no small amount of disgust. It had turned a very unusual shade of brown where mucus and blood had mixed together. He'd be getting Zory a new one, for sure.  
  
"I think so," Zory said slowly, "but healing powers don't come naturally to us. Considering our current conditions, it would probably take every ounce of strength we have."  
  
"So, what, we'd die?" Jed asked rather casually, considering the circumstances.  
  
"I think so, yeah."  
  
"Well, if it's only a matter of him or us, what are we waiting for?" Neff cocked an eyebrow.  
  
"No!" Mamoru bellowed, making all four of them jump. "No... you can't..."  
  
"If you want to stop us, Prince, then you'd better hurry up and do it yourself, because we aren't waiting." Malachi held his head firmly, his face so close to Mamoru's that all either of them could see was the other's eyes.  
  
"I can't..." he muttered, his eyelids sliding down again.  
  
"You can, Prince! We're going to help you, alright? We'll give you the energy you need. But you have to do the healing part yourself, understand?"  
  
"Prince, either you step up and get the Golden Crystal working or you will have four very heavy--" Neff eyed Zory. "--three very heavy and one insubstantial corpse to clean up later."  
  
Zory bristled, managing to look indignant even under the bruises. "Hey, I resent that."  
  
"Please?"   
  
The question was so soft, no one even noticed it but Mamoru. In such a close proximity to Malachi, he could hear the tiny cought of a whisper, and could very clearly see tears forming in the corners of his eyes. Desperation, fear, hope were all bursting out with just one look; he wasn't going this far to lose his Prince now!  
  
Mamoru could not possibly say no to those eyes; even if Malachi had been asking him to magically turn his hair purple, he would have said yes. To see so many emotions pouring out of his friend's normally indifferent eyes like this was positively heartbreaking.  
  
The dark-haired Prince nodded shortly--a nod that only Malachi could see.   
  
Slowly, a faint glow began to form around Mamoru's body. Compared to the shining brilliance that usually accompanied the Golden Crystal, the light that surrounded him appeared rather dull. Malachi gently laid his Prince's head back on the ground and took his hand again, immediately causing the glow to brighten.  
  
Jed abandoned the sopping bloody mess that was now his T-shirt, and held Mamoru's other hand. The glow intensified; a minimal amount, it looked like, but it was making all the difference. Neff leaned over to Malachi, looking quite pained at the effort, but managed to take his friend's hand anyway. Again, the glow increased.  
  
Inching over on the grass, Zory took Neff's slightly sticky hand in his own, trying to ignore the fact that he was very uneasy about what exactly was making it sticky. The link complete, the golden glow washed over all of them at almost full intensity. The gaping wound in Mamoru's abdomen slowly began to close itself, organs rebuilding holes, skin knitting back together. It was a slow process--they were all exhausted beyond what they'd ever thought possible, including the day before Jed's Intro to Latin Literature final--but eventually, the only thing that remained was a bloody hole in Mamoru's shirt.  
  
Finally assured that their Prince wasn't going to die--yet--the four men let out a sigh of relief in unison. Letting go of the respective hands each was holding, they all felt the sudden urge to fall over and go to sleep.   
  
"We need to get inside," Neff observed, although he didn't look like he much felt like going anywhere.  
  
Malachi watched his Prince's face, concern continuing to linger in his eyes. Even with the assistance of his guardians, healing himself had taken every ounce of strength that Mamoru had left in reserve, and no sooner had the golden light faded then the black-haired Prince had slipped from consciousness, the hand that clung to Malachi's falling limp between his fingers. His hand felt cold, even under the midday sun, and was as sickly a shade of pale as the rest of him.  
  
"Neff, I know you're exhausted, but do you think you can carry him?"  
  
"Oh, sure. I already feel like I've been run over by a tractor, why not throw another 170 pounds on my back?"  
  
Malachi sighed, pushing his silver hair out of his face in an infinitely weary manner. "Look, I wouldn't ask you if I had two functional arms, but at the moment I can't really do much."  
  
"Relax, Malachi," the brunette grunted as he pushed himself up off the lawn. "I never said I wouldn't do it."  
  
"I'll help." Jed eyed his shirt with much trepidation; he didn't want to bring it in and have to put it in the wash, but he didn't want to throw it in the garbage and risk having to explain it. For the moment, he set it down at his feet and carefully began to shoulder the unconscious Mamoru. "Zory, can you move under your own power, or do you need help?"  
  
Zory experimentally got to his feet; he wobbled a little, but seemed to be stable after a moment. "I'm fine. If I need help, I'll stop; no sense in having yet another person passing out."  
  
"How's your chest?" Malachi asked quietly, as Neff slipped his neck under Mamoru's free arm to give him support.  
  
"Well, I got some lovely biofeedback from all that healing. Good news, I'm not going to cough all the blood out of my body. Bad news, I still feel like shit." He craned his head backwards to look at Jed. "On the count of three, let's move before I fall over. One, two, three."  
  
With matching groans of part pain and part manly strength, the two men walked shakily towards the back door of the frat house. The white-haired man let out a breath when they finally managed to get inside.  
  
"Malachi, we need to get you to the hospital. Your arm is still in rotten shape." Zory eyed the useless limb critically. It wasn't going to fall out of the socket at a moment's notice, but it was still broken, and Mamoru would be in no shape to heal it for a very long time. By then, the damage would be done.  
  
The white-haired man slowly began to shift his feet beneath him in order to try and stand. He was forced to pause part way; his earlier injuries were making him dizzy, and it was difficult maintaining his balance with his one hand gripping the ground. "I'm not going anywhere. At least, not until he's doing better."  
  
"Malachi, you can't just be walking around with a broken shoulder. We don't even know how bad it is. Heck, what if they need to operate--"  
  
"Which is exactly why I'm not going to the hospital. Between all the waiting, the x-rays, whatever treatment I need, I could be there all night, Zory. Heck, if it's bad enough, I might be stuck in there for days. By that time, that freaking Lunette thing would have already attacked, and I'd be too morphined up to even haul myself out of bed, let alone do anything to help." His tone became rather distracted as he experimentally shifted his weight, trying to figure out how to pull himself upright without ending up flat on his face.  
  
The blonde stood watching his green-eyed friend, arms crossed in a rather irate manner. "And how much help do you think you'll be like this? For God's sake, you can't even stand up!"  
  
"Zory, I--"  
  
"You're not arguing with me, Malachi." The blonde's tone echoed that exact sentiment. He was dead serious--well, thankfully not dead, but serious all the same. "You are going to the hospital, and you are going to have your arm checked, and I will do whatever it takes to get you there even if it requires hitting you over the head with a frying pan to get you in the car."  
  
Malachi finally decided he'd gotten his balance. With a grunt and a swift push, he was on his feet--  
  
--and immediately flat on his face in the grass.  
  
Zory squashed the urge to laugh in a nanosecond. "Idiot. Just let me help you up, okay?"  
  
Considering his situation, the white-haired man could do little more than swallow his pride and allow the blonde to help him to his feet. He tried not to lean on the smaller man too much, but at the moment his knees felt so wobbly that he could not help but depend on him as Zory guided him towards the frat house parking lot.   
  
By some miracle, Malachi had been the last to use the vehicle that the four fratboys shared, when he had made a quick run for party supplies--namely beer--a few nights ago. If either Neff or Jed had the keys, they would have to drag themselves all the way back to the frat house, and Malachi was not sure whether he could make the journey. He slumped heavily against the side of the 1985 Park Place Oldsmobile--a dark blue monster of a car that was only protected from rusting to death by the thick layer of bumper stickers that had been plastered across its surface--while Zory unceremoniously dug into his jeans pocket in search of keys.  
  
"You know, I could have gotten those for you," Malachi said dryly, as Zory triumphantly pulled the well-loved keychain out of his back pocket.  
  
"Yeah, but then I wouldn't have had an excuse to fondle you. Do you need help getting in?" Zory opened the driver's side door and started throwing out empty beer cans that had collected there. He found it very difficult to drive when empty Miller Lites rolled under the brake petal.  
  
Malachi choked. "You wouldn't have had an excuse to WHAT?"  
  
Zory held up a still-full six pack, and tossed it into the back seat. He ignored the question fully. "Do you need help getting in, or don't you?"  
  
"I still want to know about this fondling thing."  
  
"After we get your arm set. I'm counting to three, and then I am going to pick you up and put you in the car myself."  
  
Malachi burst out laughing, gripping at the roof of the car in an attempt to keep upright. "You couldn't even pick me up halfway without collapsing!"  
  
Zory got out of the car and stared the white-haired man down viciously. "Want to test me?"  
  
"As tempting as that sounds, I think you've been crushed enough times today without adding myself to the problem. No sense in both of us having to visit the ER tonight."   
  
The blonde gave him a small grin, then returned to clearing off the floor, grabbing handfuls of empty Burger King wrappers and tossing them in the back seat.   
  
Malachi looked down at the car door next to him, realizing that there was really no way he could remain standing while trying to open it with his left hand. He tried a few unsuccessful maneuvers to keep himself leaning on the car while freeing up his left hand to open the door, but to no avail. Finally, he was forced to sigh, defeated. "Zory..."  
  
"What?" Zory's head popped up, his arms laden with beer bottles and Big Mac containers.  
  
"Will you open the door for me, please?"  
  
The blonde leaned across the front seat and pushed the door open. He smirked up at his white-haired friend. "What was that about needing help?"  
  
"...You know, I could think of a lot of things to say to that, but taking your new fetish for touching me into account, I think I'll opt out of all of them and just settle for a 'thank you.'" Malachi winced as he sat down; his arm may have been useless, but his shoulderblade did not like having pressure on it from the back or, well, any angle really. He buckled his seat belt and tried to lean forward in such a way that he wouldn't shout obscenities every time Zory hit a pothole.  
  
"As well it should be." The driver's side finally clean (although the backseat was a mess), Zory climbed inside and shut the door. When he put his seatbelt on, the CHECK ENGINE light came on. When he put the key in the ignition, his seat tilted backwards.  
  
"I love this car," he muttered, trying to get the senile vehicle to start and fix his seat at the same time.  
  
//I hope I even make it to the hospital,// Malachi thought, bemused, as the car finally lurched to life and went rolling at approximately two miles an hour out of the parking lot. It barely missed colliding with a campus security cart before pulling out on the main road.  
  
Malachi tried his best to lean away from anything that would cause him further pain--namely everything--but even the tiniest bump in the road jostled him either against the seat behind or the seatbelt before. Zory was at least trying to drive smoothly, he could tell, although one could only manage so well when surrounded by crazy California drivers. Even so, he was inwardly relieved to have Zory--the careful one--in the driver's seat, rather than the two speed demons whose sole purpose in life was apparently to put the poor Oldsmobile into retirement. Speaking of that... "Shouldn't we tell Neff and Jed where we're going? You know, so they don't get all worried and think we died on the way into the frat house?"   
  
The car came to a stop at a red light, giving Malachi a moment's relief from the jarring movement. "I'll call them from the hospital while you're having your arm checked out."  
  
"When you do, could you ask them to stay with the Prince? I don't think he should be left alone right now."  
  
Zory nodded, his green eyes watching the red light plaintively. "They'll take care of him. He'll be alright, Malachi."  
  
The white-haired man sighed as the light turned green, preparing for the rest of the painful journey. //I certainly hope so.//  
  
---  
  
Well, it looks like our notes have offended some of you.   
  
We're sorry to anyone who took our comments as a personal attack, but when you're on the receiving end of email and review after email and review of, "Oh, it's a good story, but when will the Senshi show up?" you will cease being amused by it. Did we ever imply that you are all "dumb, deaf freaks?" We certainly hope not, because that would be incredibly stupid on our parts to insult the people who seem to be enjoying this fic.  
  
Did we react bluntly to this subject? Yes, we did. Do we think it amounts to being condescending or callow? It's in the eye of the beholder, we suppose, and if you took it that way, then there's nothing we can really do to change it. We stand by our comments, however harsh you may have taken them to be. And if you decide not to read this fic anymore, it's not a worry of ours. No one is forcing you to read it. We will continue to write even if only one person isn't totally disgusted with us.  
  
If you still feel the need to tell us how rude and immature we are, please, go ahead and do so. But please, don't be rude and immature when you do it. That doesn't get anyone anywhere. We will no longer be putting as many author notes in, seeing as how they apparently do more harm than good. However, we still stand by what we have said, and if you still have a problem with our past notes or where this fic is going, you are welcome to take it up with us.   
  
For the rest of you who don't think we're rude, awful scum of the Earth, keep reading! You may yet change your minds!  
  
~Spirit-hime and AngelAnne 


	7. Interlude

Bleed (Just to Know You're Alive)  
  
Interlude  
  
//anything between slashes are thoughts//  
  
----  
  
"Has anyone seen Usagi-chan's nightgown?"  
  
"Usagi-chan, your toothpaste has begun to grow a very interesting form of mold on it. Would you mind if I took this home to analyze?"  
  
"I've lost Haruka-san's car keys! ...oh, no, they're in my pocket."  
  
"Doesn't anyone feel like helping me zip up this suitcase?"  
  
Finally, a voice of calm cut into the sea of insanity. "Usagi, are you feeling well enough to check out today?"  
  
Tsukino Usagi looked at her hands, twisting the ends of her pigtails between her fingers. A few strands got snagged on her engagement ring. "Of course I am, Rei-chan."  
  
The dark-haired preistess sat down on the end of the bed, school shoes clacking on the linoleum floor, eyeing her princess with no small amount of disbelief. "Are you sure?"  
  
Usagi laughed, though it came out choppy and hollow. "I'm positive, Rei-chan! All the doctors said I came out of the surgery fine, I'm healing well; even Ami-chan said so, and you've got to trust her."  
  
//It's not Ami-chan I'm distrusting...//   
  
The golden-haired girl carefully disentangled the strands of her pigtail from the ring, revealing the perfect pink heart, studded with tiny shimmering diamonds. It was so beautiful, wasn't it? It always brought her comfort to look at it, to run her fingers across its smooth surface, because it always reminded her of him. Right now it didn't feel like enough, though. Right now what she wanted to see was his face. What she wanted to feel were his warm hands around her waist.   
  
"Usagi-chan?" Rei said softly, violet eyes watching her friend.  
  
"I'm fine! Everything's fine! Why shouldn't everything be fine?" She gave her ebony-haired friend what she hoped would be a perfectly composed look. In truth, it was something closer to complete and utter despair, and neither she nor the friend who watched her could help but notice the fresh tears gathering at the corners of her eyes, threatening to follow the same dried up path down her cheeks as many others had followed in the previous several hours.  
  
None of them had really slept all that well the night before. Rei suspected that Usagi had not even closed her eyes for a moment, despite the bustling nurses who kept storming in, ordering her to get some sleep. One of the more bossy ones had even kicked the Senshi out for a few hours, insisting that her patient needed rest. Rather than drag themselves home and face the wrath of parents or grandparents, several of them, herself included, had spent the night gathered in a waiting room, alternately worrying about their princess and muttering obscenities about the cause of their worry.  
  
Namely, Mamoru.  
  
It had been simple when Rei had her rage to feed off of. How dare Mamoru do something so sleezy, so cold-hearted! How dare he lie to her! How dare he lie to Usagi! She'd said all of this, and quite a few more things, while pacing back and forth in that cramped little waiting room. Ever now and then she would punch the wall, just to shake some of her anger out, but it always came back a minute later despite the dents in the cheap hospital plaster. A few times, she was asked by a nurse to calm down, but when Makoto and Haruka had stood up to intervene, the woman beat a hasty retreat to the break room.  
  
But once, during the wee hours of the morning, she'd gone back to Usagi's room to see how her friend was faring. The princess had her back to the door, and even through the tiny piece of plexiglass seperating them, Rei could see her pull the flimsy blankets up to her neck and let out a giant sob. Rei had bumped her head violently on the door then, out of surprise and mild panic, and she had to quickly duck down before Usagi caught sight of her spying.   
  
The rest of the night, the image kept her anger at bay. No matter what Mamoru had or hadn't done, it was hurting Usagi the most. Even with the possibility of an affair looming over their relationship, Usagi was worried about Mamoru. She was worried about his broken tone of voice, his self-depreciating words. She was worried that, while he may have hurt her first, she may have hurt him ten times worse.  
  
Rei twisted a lump of sheet in her hands. She knew the other Senshi had done the same during the night; they hadn't spoken about it, but they didn't need to. They kept exchanging looks of confusion and--Rei suspected--guilt. Like maybe they'd been too forceful. Maybe they didn't have the whole story.  
  
Or maybe their Prince really was a dickless jerk and they needed to rip his head from his shoulders and dance on it. (Haruka had really liked that metaphor. Michiru, on the other hand, seemed to go a little green every time it came up.)  
  
She wasn't sure who had suggested the phonecall. It had come at one of their higher points of rage, when they would have been willing to tear the poor man limb from limb with their bare hands at the slightest provocation. It had seemed like such a good idea at the time. Just call the boy up, give him a piece of their mind, and, once they've said enough to make him realize how much of an ignorant jackass he's been, hang up and let him think about it until he's ready to apologize.  
  
That was the plan, anyway. But it was faulty from the start.  
  
First off, none of them knew his number, which meant that Usagi had to make the call. That, Rei mused, was their greatest mistake. The poor girl had been shocked at their words. Shocked, and heartbroken. They had no right to make her listen to those words, to make her hear those horrible insults being hurled at her lover when she was already in so much pain. And, for that matter, she was not altogether sure that they had the right to say them at all.  
  
To see the broken expression on her friend's face would have been enough. Enough to silence all of them, to tone down their fury. But no, then they had to hear the voice of the strange man on the phone.  
  
The man bothered her. He bothered her because he knew too much to be just a normal friend. He bothered her because his words had confused her. But more than anything, he bothered her because he had shown her--them--what they were doing. For better or for worse, Mamoru had still been--was still--their friend, and even if he had done all the things they were accusing him of, it was still wrong of them to treat him so poorly.  
  
Rei was, fortunately or otherwise, saved from further introspection when Makoto let out a cry of triumph, sitting down on the closed suitcase and wiping her hands on her skirt.  
  
"They said it couldn't be done! But I, Kino Makoto, have shut Usagi-chan's suitcase!" The brunette put her hands on her hips, grinning. "C'mon, guys, applaud me."  
  
Minako opted for throwing a wad of socks at her head instead. "Yeah, but you forgot these."  
  
"Curse you, blonde demon," Makoto snarled, snatching the dirty socks out of her hair. She shook her fist menacingly at her friend. "I'll get you yet!"  
  
Minako swooned melodramatically, fanning herself with what appeared to be Usagi's medical bill. "Oh, isn't there someone to save me from the raging Amazon princess Makoto?"  
  
Apparently there wasn't, because no one else in the room was paying attention to their mildly amusing, if not questionably sane, antics.  
  
"Usagi, tell me what's wrong." With the hand that wasn't clutching the starched sheets, Rei cupped Usagi's face and pulled it close. "Please?"  
  
Usagi stared up at her, crystal blue eyes filled with so much pain that all Rei really wanted to do was throw her arms around her friend and hold her tight. "I... I miss him."  
  
The activity in the room came to an abrupt halt, Makoto and Minako's laughter dying on their lips. The early morning bustle of preparing Usagi for her trip home from the hospital had been a welcome distraction from the long, dreary hours of the night before. But barely a glance at the blonde was a sobering reminder of what their princess was going through.   
  
Makoto was balling her hand into a fist, absentmindedly cracking her knuckles and muttering curses beneath her breath. "Damn womanizer," she mumbled, a tad too loud, "someone oughtta go after him with a crowbar. No, an axe."  
  
"Shh, Makochan!" Minako cast a worried glance in Usagi's direction, hoping the girl had not heard. "Can't you see how much this is hurting her?"  
  
"That's exactly why he deserves to meet my fist, Minako-chan," the brunette hissed. "How dare he treat her like that. While she's in the hospital, no less!"  
  
"Mako-chan, can't we just let that go, for five minutes at the very least?" Ami appeared behind Minako, a toiletry bag in her hands. "I know Mamoru-san is acting...strange, but can't you see how upset Usagi-chan is?"  
  
"Of course I can see it." Makoto slapped her hand on her leg in an attempt to keep from punching the suitcase. It had wheels on it, after all, and the last thing she wanted was to end up on the floor. "That's what's killing me, Ami-chan! I know now there's more to it than 'Mamoru is a cheating asshole and we should tear him limb from limb.' But dammit, that's not making me feel any better!"  
  
There was awkward silence for a few minutes, as everyone figured out what to say next.  
  
"I know you miss him, Usagi. And I wish there was something I could do." Rei put her arm around Usagi's trembling shoulders, hoping she could offer some comfort. She pulled her friend close, wincing slightly as she got a blond odango in her eye. "We're here for you. I'm here for you."  
  
"I know, Rei-chan," Usagi said, choked up on all the emotion threatening to spilt out. "And that means so much. But...but I think he's hurt and I can't help him, and I want to so badly--"  
  
"Wait, you think he's hurt?" Rei pulled back a little out of surprise, causing Usagi to flinch. The priestess would apologize for that later. "Why do you think that?"  
  
"I..." Usagi looked down at her abdomen, bangs covering her tear-filled eyes. "It's like I'm feeling his wounds. My stomach hurts, and I've got a headache, like I hit it on something really hard..."  
  
The princess didn't even have to look up to notice that all four Senshi had crowded around her by this time. It was a very good thing she wasn't claustrophobic. "And he does this thing when he feels bad about something," she continued, rubbing her nose with the back of her hand, "where he puts all the blame on himself, and he just makes himself sick with it. It's like he's doing that tenfold and my whole brain hurts. It's even worse than that time when I tell him I caught him looking at the attendant at the supermarket, when she bent over to pick up the bag of miso she dropped, and I yelled at him for twenty minutes."  
  
"Can you see anything, Usagi-chan?" Ami appeared over Usagi's left shoulder, sitting down crosslegged on the bed. "It doesn't matter if it's something insignificant. Anything at all."  
  
The blonde shook her head confusedly. "I don't know, Ami-chan! I can see vague flashes of things, but they're so jumbled up that I can't even make sense of them. I guess I can try connecting more closely with him, to see if that'll help."  
  
Rei nodded sagely. She knew something of the bond that Usagi and Mamoru shared, though usually he was the one feeling her pain, not the other way around. Linking with people in such a way as to feel what they feel and see what they see was a difficult thing, but considering the lovers already had such a close connection on a subconscious level, she had no doubt that Usagi was capable of doing it on a much higher level. "Please try, Usagi. If something's happened to him, we need to know."  
  
Usagi closed her eyes, reaching out to her Mamochan with all of her being. At first she met with the expected resistance, the frail wall between her consciousness and his that often served as the only barrier preventing them from completely living in each others' shoes. As this last barrier opened to her, it released such a sudden flood of unpleasant sensations that she instinctively recoiled, both physically and mentally. Wave upon wave of pain, guilt, panic, dread, and confusion rolled over her senses, tangled up in one big agonizing mess.  
  
Usagi swam in this knot of emotions for what seemed like hours, the pain being the sharpest feeling of all, followed by the guilt. She was rolling over it, through the swells of agony, like she was a small weightless ship on a giant ocean. Unable to stand it any more, her eyes snapped open, and she found herself sweating and panting. She felt like she was going to faint, but somehow managed to stay upright.   
  
"Usagi-chan!" All four of the friends immediately lunged for the princess, not knowing what they intended to do to help her. The blonde waved them off feebly, trying to steady her breathing. She could handle it, she really could, but not with people hovering over her.  
  
"Guys, if you wouldn't mind, could you stop breathing down my shirt? I can't tell what's going on if you keep doing that." Usagi didn't smile, though she wanted to, when the girls exchanged sheepish looks and scooted an infinitesimal amount away from her.   
  
"What did you see, Usagi-chan?" Makoto asked carefully, controlling the anxious urge to lean right into her friend's face and demand answers.  
  
"I couldn't really see anything, Mako-chan. He's in so much pain, I couldn't even work through it." Usagi took another steadying breath. "He's feeling so many things all at once, and they're so extreme, it's a wonder I could even get to them at all."  
  
She closed her eyes again, approaching the mass of emotions with much more caution the second time. There was nothing around it, save for a sea of black and emptiness; whatever information she would find, it would be at the heart of all that agony. She reached for Rei's hand unconsciously and, squaring her shoulders, dove headlong into Mamoru's pain.  
  
It rolled over her again, throbbing and pulsating like a living being, a creature of torment and suffering. Her breath stuck in her throat, and she felt as though she was drowning in it. Maybe she couldn't do this after all. Maybe she had better turn back. But then the thought of her Mamochan began to materialize in her mind. This wasn't just any agony, after all. It was his. He was hurting and he needed her, and she couldn't abandon him now. Mamoru's pain was her pain.  
  
Usagi took a deep breath and pressed forward. Somehow, after some struggle, she pushed past all those feelings and emotions, past the overwhelming pain and guilt, to the more substantial sense of sight.  
  
It was hardly much better.  
  
Confused and jumbled images darted through her mind one after another. They were strange and random, appearing in anything but chronological order. Sometimes they shifted grotesquely from one image to another. Other times they came in quick flashes, like a slide projector on hyperspeed. It took her a moment to realize that she was not seeing through his eyes, but merely watching his thoughts.  
  
"Can you see anything Usagi-chan?" Minako asked fervently, too impatient to wait.  
  
"I... I see..." She tried desperately to latch onto an image--any image--long enough to figure out what it was. Gradually, like beads of water drawing together, a familiar figure congealed before her. "...me?"  
  
The girls exchanged confused glances. "What do you mean, Usagi-chan?" Ami asked patiently.  
  
The blonde opened her mouth to speak, but even as she did so the image changed. No longer was it a perfect picture of herself as Eternal Sailor Moon, clad in wings and ribbons and wearing a cheerful smile, but rather it was something... different.  
  
This Eternal Sailor Moon looked like something that had come to life from a funhouse mirror. Her smile was pouty, sensual, altogether sinister and nothing like her own. Her wings were tattered, smudged with dirt, not pure enough to be angel wings at all. Her bodice was black and dull, like low quality leather, with random patches of white on it that looked like she'd had an argument with a bottle of bleach.  
  
In the center of the bow on her chest was just a simple round broach, not the one Usagi knew so well as her own - and then she knew why. There was no Ginzuishou in it. She didn't know how she knew, exactly, that the Ginzuishou wasn't in it. But the back of her neck itched and she felt slightly nauseated, like something was wrong, and that was it. The Ginzuishou was the one thing that always made Sailor Moon's coming feel like a miracle could happen, but this version of herself was a gaping void that seemed to suck all the light and purity out of the air around her.  
  
"It's Eternal Sailor Moon, but it's not me," Usagi said shakily. "There's so many things different about her; she just feels wrong. Like she fell out of another dimension. She's making my skin crawl and I'm not even there."  
  
The four girls looked at each other, partly incredulous and partly nervous. What was happening to their prince, all the way across the Pacific?  
  
The room was silent for awhile, save for Usagi's occasional whimperings. Suddenly, she let out a cry of pain, clutching at her abdomen. She could see, in her mind's eye, the Eternal Tier going straight through Mamoru's body as though it were a recently sharpened knife. Worse than seeing it, she could feel it, and even though she wasn't wounded, she thought she could feel blood soaking her uniform and fire in her belly where the wand had been.   
  
"Usagi!" Four voices shouted, the girls rushing forward to help her.  
  
"I'll get the nurse," Ami said, her voice laced with panic.  
  
"No, Ami-chan!" The blonde gasped, clutching her stomach and digging her fingernails into the fabric of her shirt, "I... it's okay, it's not me."  
  
Rei squeezed her other hand tightly, ignoring the fact that Usagi was crushing her fingers. "What's happening, Usagi? What's wrong with him?"  
  
"She's hurting him! She's hurting my Mamochan!"  
  
"How is she hurting him?"  
  
"She... she stabbed him with..." Tears began to run down Usagi's cheeks.  
  
"With what, Usagi-chan?" Makoto asked, her original urge to pry information out of her friend long dead.  
  
"My Tier..." Usagi collapsed onto Rei, sobbing quietly and clinging to her friend for all she was worth.   
  
Rei inhaled sharply, trying to keep her own tears in. "Oh, Usagi...You know this isn't your fault, right? Don't start blaming yourself."  
  
Usagi just sobbed, holding desperately to her friend. She didn't have the time nor the need to start blaming herself now. All she knew was that her Mamochan was hurt, that he was feeling guilty for something that wasn't his fault, and there was no way to help him. The other three girls rallied around her, putting their hands on her shoulders, reassuring her that they were still there.   
  
"Hey, koneko-chan, we're he--" Haruka's sentenced stopped abruptly when she came to the door. She came to a halt when she grasped the scene before her, almost dropping the jacket draped on her arm. She "oof"ed when someone collided with her suddenly unmoving frame.  
  
"You know, you're allowed to go all the way in, darling," someone said sourly from the vicinity of her back.   
  
A pair of delicate hands slid around the blonde woman's waist and veered her to the side, allowing Michiru to slip past her through the doorway. "Honestly, dear, it is far too early in the morning to be playing ga--" Her own sentence faltered as she followed her lover's gaze.   
  
"Usagi-chan?"  
  
The blonde didn't look up. She was too busy sobbing on Rei's shoulder.   
  
"Ami-chan, what happened?" Haruka asked, not succeeding in squashing her panic. Was sshe sick again? Had someone in her family gotten hurt? Had something happened to Mamoru? Not that she herself would have been particularly heartbroken about that last scenario, but her Princess was still stuck on not hating him, and it was driving her absolutely batty.  
  
"It's Mamoru-san, isn't it?" Michiru asked quietly, looking at the weeping girl out of the corner of her eye. She was frowning distinctly, in a way that said 'I think I know what's going on and I don't like it.' Haruka sighed - how did her lover always figure things out before everyone else? Stupid Piscean intuition.  
  
Minako nodded, looking down at her skirt and very intently pressing out the wrinkles with her hands. Makoto made a noise of assent, and started fiddling with one of the zipper pulls on Usagi's suitcase.  
  
"We think someone's masquerading as Sailor Moon and using Mamoru-san's guilt to hurt him," Ami explained, having somehow acquired her computer within the last fifteen seconds. She was looking at Michiru as she said it, but her fingers were flying at the speed of light on the computer's miniature keyboard, proving Rei's theory once and for all. Ami could really operate that in her sleep.  
  
Haruka could have said some very choice words just then. Such as, if Mamoru was any kind of man, he would not have anything to be guilty about in the first place. And, for that matter, why should his being hurt concern them at all, other than the fact that someone beat her to it? She refrained from making any of these comments out loud, if only because her Princess was in close proximity. And because Michiru had already threatened to get violent if she caused Usagi any more pain. //Not that that would be such a bad thing,// she added deviously.  
  
"How did you find that out?" Michiru asked. She always seemed to know the right questions to ask, Haruka mused.  
  
"Well, Usagi-chan started having these visions or something, and--" Minako's explanation was abruptly cut off by Usagi's gasp.  
  
"What is it, Usagi?" Rei asked softly. "Do you see something else?"  
  
She nodded dimly, odango bobbing beneath Rei's chin. "The... the other woman is gone, but someone else is there. No, a bunch of people are there."  
  
"Are they hurting him?"  
  
Usagi shook her head. "I think they're trying to help him, but, but they look like..."  
  
"Like what?"  
  
"Like people from the Dark Kingdom."  
  
The silence in the room was heavy and oppresive, for the whole ten seconds that it lasted. Almost immediately, everyone was shooting off questions.  
  
"The Dark Kingdom? Are you sure?"  
  
"Who, Beryl or Kunzite and his friends?"  
  
"Are you positive they aren't hurting him?"  
  
"Can you see what they're doing?"  
  
"Did you really mean to say the Dark Kingdom?"  
  
"Whoa, girls, take a breath," Haruka finally cut in, dizzied by all the frantic questions and the fact that she really had no idea what was going on. "Didn't we seal the Dark Kingdom away after they crushed the Silver Millenium?"  
  
Apparently this was the wrong question, because an equally frenzied cloud of answeres was directed at her.  
  
"No, see, they came back, and..."  
  
"But we sealed them away, see."  
  
"We had to fight them, but that was years ago."  
  
"There were four of them, but then there was Beryl and youma and..."  
  
"We killed them. They should be dead."  
  
This last comment came from Minako, who stood leaning against the wall, the red bow in her hair lightly brushing against it. She she brushed a soft strand of blonde hair out of her face, staring down at the floor. "They can't be alive," she said softly.  
  
Ami put her hand on Minako's arm, her face grim and seriously set. She said nothing, but her look spoke volumes. Fear, worry, confusion were all pulsing just behind her eyes. Minako was right; they couldn't be alive. Not after all that hardship. Not after defeating Chaos, the end all and be all of evil, could their first and perhaps most devastating enemy be walking the earth again.  
  
"I think," Rei spoke up, voice thick with emotion, "that we owe Mamoru-san a phonecall." Her eyes dropped, coal black bangs hiding them from everybody. But not from Usagi.  
  
//Rei-chan...//  
  
"They're not hurting him." Usagi's voice was firm, a platform of solidarity that her inner court was needing just then. It was, Haruka thought bemusedly, her Princess Voice. "I don't know what they -are- doing, exactly, but if they meant to hurt him, they wouldn't..."  
  
She paused. How much did she want to share? She could see her Mamochan on the ground, bleeding, life dripping away second by second, with Kunzite, or whoever he was, holding him. Holding him and crying and begging him to save himself. There was something eerily right, that Kunzite would be protecting him, but Usagi couldn't put her finger on what it was.  
  
"Wouldn't what, Usagi-chan?" Michiru was a sea of calm. Always. It was the moments when she started to lose her control that you knew everything was going somewhere in a handbasket but fast.  
  
Usagi stared at Michiru for a moment, suddenly reassured by that calm look in her deep aquamarine eyes. Maybe the others wouldn't be able to understand what she was seeing, but as long as Michiru and Rei were nearby, maybe it would be okay after all. "They wouldn't be so desperate to save him," she concluded. Her voice was soft but decisive, a firm challenge against anyone who dared question whether she was seeing properly.  
  
Tangible silence returned to the room, as everyone attempted to absorb this new information.  
  
"That doesn't make any sense," Makoto mumbled, fingers restlessly playing with the zippers on Usagi's suitcase.   
  
Ami nodded gravely. "Especially not for that one, Kunzite. Remember what he did to Mamoru-san? How he..." She trailed off abruptly, casting a glance up at Usagi. It would be better not to discuss the many ways that her Princess' lover had been killed in the past.  
  
The blonde was not listening anyway. She was focused far too intently on said lover, on the sight of the people frantically trying to stop the bleeding, on the confused jumble of emotions churning away in his mind. She saw the way Kunzite's hand clutched her Mamochan's, and how tightly her Mamochan held him back. So tightly that both their knuckles showed white beneath the thin wash of blood that seemed to be splattered all over everything. Instinctively, she reached for Rei's hand, squeezing it just as tight.  
  
"None of this makes sense," Rei said, hoarse. She clung to her princess' hand as though it were a lifeline, which it may well have been. "Not Mamoru-san's behavior, not the appearence of those...those demons, years after we destroyed them. Not any of it."  
  
"That's just the way our lives work," Michiru said, wrapping one arm around her lover's waist. "We are always encountering new obstacles, things that don't make sense. It's just the way of things. But we'll solve it, as we always do."  
  
"No, there was one time we didn't." Usagi tried to block out the blood, the pain that was washing around in her mind, but she just couldn't. There was no way she could cut their link, not now.  
  
Not even if she had wanted to.   
  
As much as Usagi wanted to recoil in horror at what she saw and felt, what she wanted even more was to put her arms around her beloved Prince and hold him tight until he was no longer hurting. She tried to reach him, tried to make him hear her voice telling him how much she loved him and missed him and never wanted him to go away. But try as she might, Usagi could not break through the tangled net of guilt, pain, and self-loathing that had ensnared his very being. He was deaf to her cries.  
  
The girls watched their Princess, all of them looking quite lost as to what to do. They wanted so much to comfort her, but what do you say in a situation like this? Haruka certainly could not think of anything.  
  
"Is he alright, Usagi-chan?" Makoto leaned forward on her perch on top of the suitcase, watching the blonde with concerned green eyes.  
  
Usagi dimly shook her head.  
  
She was beginning to panic. Her Mamochan was struggling to remain conscious, struggling to cling to the life that was steadily leaking out of him. She could see the panic flooding Kunzite's strangely green eyes, and could hear the way that his voice, even through the foreign English words, was edged in desperation. //Oh, Mamochan, why aren't you listening to them? Can't you see that they're as desperate as I am? Why are you blaming yourself so much? That's not fair, Mamochan. You always take all the blame.//  
  
For a few more agonizing moments, it seemed as though Mamoru had given up hope completely and was really going to slip away. But out of the corner of her empathic vision, she could see three other men linking hands with her Prince - their Prince - and though she couldn't understand what they were saying, their purpose was clear. They were lending him strength, enough that he could heal himself. Slowly, as though from a clogged faucet, a little glow lit up Mamoru's features. More and more light reflected against the sticky, bloodied grass as organs, tissue, skin all mended itself. He was whole once again, but he had lost a lot of blood, and with the threat of death warded off for the immediate future, Mamoru blacked out, effectively cutting off Usagi's view of the situation.  
  
Usagi couldn't help it. She screamed. "Mamochan!"  
  
"Princess!" "Usagi-chan, what's wrong?" "Did that Dark Kingdom bastard do something to him?"  
  
"He's...I can't see him," the blonde explained frantically, face scrunched in panic and confusion. "I can't see him! I can still feel him, but..."  
  
"Maybe he's just blacked out," Michiru interjected calmly. "If he lost a lot of blood, his body would try to shut down what it could to gather strength. I'm sure that's just what it is, Usagi-chan."  
  
"She's right, Usagi-chan," Ami nodded, tapping thoughtfully at her miniature computer. "If you can still feel him, he must be alright."  
  
The blonde whimpered slightly, her hands wringing the edge of the sheet into a tight rope. Six pairs of eyes watched her sympathetically, at a loss as to how to help her.  
  
Suddenly, Usagi flung the covers aside. "I'm going to see him!" she announced decisively.  
  
Makoto leapt up, effectively knocking over the suitcase. "What? Usagi--"  
  
"Mamochan needs me! I need to go see him!" She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, bare feet landing on the cold tile floor.  
  
Rei grabbed her arm, her grip both firm and gentle. "What are you talking about, Usagi-chan? You can't just go off and buy a plane ticket."  
  
Usagi turned towards her, pigtails flying. "I'll teleport there! If we could teleport to the Moon, I can teleport to America, right?"  
  
"Usagi-chan, you just came out of surgery," Ami explained carefully. "You're in no condition to teleport to the nearest convenience store, let alone halfway across the world."  
  
"But..."  
  
"She's right on that account, koneko-chan. Even with all of us supporting you, I'd be afraid of what a trip like that could do to you." Haruka bit her lip, partly out of worry and partly out of frustration. She'd sooner die than see her Princess sacrifice herself for her two-timing boyfriend.   
  
"But he needs help!" the blonde insisted desperately.  
  
"Usagi-chan," Minako said softly, her normally cheerful eyes the very picture of serious. "Whatever is happening to Mamoru-san right now, there must be a reason for it. He's a lot stronger than we give him credit for. I'm sure he must be alright. I think we all need to start having a little faith in Mamoru-san."  
  
Unfortunately for Haruka, her lips got ahead of her brain and she would immediately regret what came out of her mouth. "His capabilities, or lack therof, aside, I for one certainly don't feel the need to have faith in cheaters."  
  
The room was so silent, everyone could hear each other's breaths hitch. Michiru elbowed her lover sharply in the ribs; so sharply, in fact, that Haruka hissed in pain and pulled away. There she went, running her mouth. Of all the things Usagi needed to hear right now, it was not her mistrustful bellyaching. Beyond her, Makoto and Ami were glaring at her sharply. She winced; even gentle Ami was looking a bit homocidal.  
  
"Princess, what I meant to say was--"  
  
The hand came flying so fast that Haruka hardly had time to blink. The sound of the slap seemed to echo in the already hollow silence. Her head whipped sharply to the side of its own accord, and only the reflexive grab of her partner prevented her from stumbling backwards.   
  
Stunned, Haruka lifted a hand to her throbbing cheek. She could not figure out which stung worse--the pain that had exploded in the side of her face, or the fact that it was her own princess who had hit her.  
  
"Don't you ever say that again!" Usagi stood, trembling with emotion, barefoot and in naught but her hospital gown. Her crystal blue eyes glared daggers up at Haruka, shimmering with furious, frightened tears.  
  
"Princess..."  
  
"Don't you -ever- say that again!" the blonde shouted, shaking her fists at the woman who, for all intents and purposes, towered over her. Her face was knitted into a scowl, looking straight up at Haruka with renewed vigor. "I don't care what you may think of Mamochan, or his behavior! He is still your Prince, Haruka-san, and I am still your Princess! He could very well be dying, and all you can think to talk about is how he may or may not have cheated on me!"  
  
"Princess, please forgive me." Haruka's voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. She looked off to her side, hoping Michiru would take her hand, but no hand was offered. It seemed not even her lover was offering any sympathy - not that she expected any. "It wasn't my place to say that."  
  
"You're damn right it wasn't." A collective gasp was heard around the room as she uttered the curse, but Usagi ignored them. She reached up to touch Haruka's red, swollen cheek, but her friend pulled away, still ashamed to look her in the face. "But you said it anyway. Hasn't Michiru taught you anything about keeping your mouth shut when you want to say things like that?"  
  
//Apparently I'm not a very good student,// Haruka thought sullenly, her cheeks burning both from the slap and from the embarrassment. She could feel five pairs of eyes boring into her, and she suspected that more than a few of them were filled with as much vehemence as the hand that had scruck her. Worse was the sinking feeling in her stomach, the one that told her very clearly that she had deserved that. If something had happened to her Michiru and someone had had the gall to insult her lover even as she may have been dying, Haruka was certain that the offender would have suffered much more than the sting of one little slap.   
  
Yeah, she knew she deserved that. But it did not make things any better.  
  
"I'm sorry, Princess."  
  
Usagi stared down at her hands, which were wringing tightly around one another, her fingernails digging into her skin. Though her bangs fell softly over her face, overshadowing her eyes, tears could still be seen glistening on her cheeks. "It... it doesn't matter anyway, does it? He'll be okay, won't he? He's so strong. He's always been so strong."  
  
//I wouldn't call him the strong one in this relationship.// Haruka watched her Princess out of the corner of her eye, not daring to face her directly. //But he has the love of one of the most beautiful creatures in the universe. You gotta give him credit there.//  
  
"He'll be okay, Usagi." Rei was glaring daggers at Haruka from the corner of her eye, but the rest of her face was calm, cool as a cucumber. "As...upsetting as I find the appearence of Kunzite, and his inexplicable behavoir, I can't help but feel that Mamoru-san is in good hands."  
  
"Me, too." Usagi's eyes dropped to her feet, cold on the linoluem tiles. "But I wish...I wish I could be there for him. I knew I never should have let him go back to America. I know it's his dream, but just once, I wanted to be selfish and keep him with me. And protect him. For once, why can't I be strong for him?"  
  
"Usagi-chan, you are strong for him." Makoto smiled warmly, somehow forgetting that she had been cracking her knuckles and muttering curses a mere few hours ago. Usagi's happiness was, after all, far more important than any percieved notions of revenge. "You have always been a light to Mamoru-san. Heck, I don't know him that well, and even I can see that."  
  
Minako slid an arm around the other blonde's shoulders. Right now, with her eyes red from crying and lack of sleep, her face all pale from the surgery, and her slim frame wrapped in little else but the thin, barely concealing hospital gown, the former Princess Serenity looked exceptionally frail. She looked like she needed a really big hug. "Tell you what, Usagi-chan. Soon as we get you home, we'll try calling him, alright? We'll get this whole mess cleared up, and you can make sure that he's alright. How's that sound?"   
  
Usagi's head shot up. "But you guys have school," she said seriously.  
  
Minako snorted in a most unladylike fashion, waving off the statement with a broad sweep of her hand. "A minor detail! You're talking to the goddess of love, my dear, and your love life is in dire need of assistance. Just leave it to V! We'll have everything fixed in no time."  
  
"I think we can take a day's vacation from school," Ami spoke up, looking from Usagi to her own bookbag with a smile. "I'd be shocked if our teachers got terribly upset if we were helping a sick friend."  
  
"No arguments, Usagi-chan, okay?" Makoto leaned against the enormous suitcase, pulling out its retractable plastic handle as she did so. "Minako-chan's right, in her own convoluted sort of way. We'll even pay for the long distance. But you two need to have a serious talk."  
  
Usagi raised an eyebrow. "And you all need to supervise my phonecall...why?"  
  
"For moral support, of course!" Minako proclaimed. "And," she added in a whisper so that only Usagi could hear, "because it's an excuse to skip out on that math quiz."  
  
"Actually, Usagi," Rei interjected, "we'd like to be there because we're worried about him as well. I'm rather wary about these guys he's with. And I'm not sure about anyone else here, but I personally would like to apologize for some things that I said earlier."  
  
Usagi smiled, relieved to suddenly find all her friends on her side. "Thanks, Rei-chan."  
  
"Well, that's settled!" announced Makoto, nearly knocking over the suitcase again. "We're breaking you out of this joint, blondie, and on the way home we're making a pit stop for chocolate bread and fashion magazines."  
  
Usagi couldn't help it. She had to laugh, despite the tears that were still threatening, despite how cold and tired and miserable she really felt. No matter how cold or tired or miserable she got, her friends would cheer her up. Her friends could make it better. Her friends could help her to help her Mamochan.   
  
But even as the parade of schoolgirls left the room, chattering all the way (except for Haruka, who was still suffering in guilty silence), the princess could not ignore the knot in her stomach. This wasn't over. There was something more - something awful - ahead. And it was right around the corner.  
  
"Princess?" Usagi glanced up from her newly arranged blankets. Haruka hovered in the doorway, though the sound of girlish chatter was quickly fading down the hallway. "I want you to know that I'm sorry. I never intended to hurt you... or him. You know that if you ever need me--if he ever needs me--I'll be there in a heartbeat."  
  
For the first time in days, the blonde-haired princess brushed aside a stray pigtail, and flashed Haruka a million dollar smile. "I know. Thanks, Haruka-san."  
  
---  
  
A big warm thank you to everyone who has left us encouraging comments and reviews. Just when we were starting to feel a little discouraged, people started coming out of the woodwork to cheer us on, which was, needless to say, really nice. Whether we have one reader or a hundred, we won't stop writing this fic, but knowing that so many people are enjoying it certainly helps keep us going.   
  
Remember how we said you'd never see the Senshi? Yeah, we lied. Sorry. But hey, you can't argue with Usagi slapping Haruka around, right? Right.  
  
Also, apologies for the slow turnaround. Between Anne having to set up - and consequently wipe and set up again - her new computer, and a new spring schedule, we've been busy out our ears. Don't worry, more mansex--real chapters to come quickly!  
  
~Spirit-hime and AngelAnne 


	8. Chapter 7

Bleed (Just to Know You're Alive)  
  
Chapter 7  
  
// anything between these slashes are thoughts //  
  
-------  
  
Neff limped down the empty hallway, rubbing at his auburn hair with an already-damp towel. Not having his face and chest covered in sticky gook certainly made him feel better, though the steam had made it difficult to breathe, and he had been forced to sit down before he could even put some clothes on. Stupid lungs. He hadn't been so banged up since that drunken brawl on the front lawn last New Years.  
  
Grumbling, he draped the towel around his neck and pushed Malachi's bedroom door open. He found Jed draped over the couch, hands massaging his eyesockets as though it were the only thing keeping them in. It was his turn for the shower next, but he looked remarkably good for someone who'd just had his ass severely kicked not half an hour before.  
  
"Your turn." Neff plopped heavily into a nearby chair, wiping a little bit of shampoo out of his ear. Jed groaned, tucking his hands behind his head.  
  
"Not unless you want to pick me up and hold me while I shower. I'm in no shape to do anything under my own power right now."  
  
"Sorry, buddy. You're great, but I ain't showering with ya."  
  
"Oh, you know you'd like it. Perv."  
  
"I could hit you for that remark, but I might break something important. Like one of your ribs. You look like shit, Jed."  
  
"You're no beauty queen yourself, buddy. It looks like someone tried to run you over with Old Bertha." Bertha was Jed's favorite pet name for the Oldsmobile, ranking right up there with Neff's own favored nickname--"Piece of Shit".  
  
"Yeah, but at least I have the decency to put on a freaking shirt. Here." He reached across to Malachi's dresser and pulled out the first t-shirt he grabbed, tossing at at Jed. "For the sake of all that is decent in the world, not to mention my appetite."  
  
The t-shirt flopped right on top of Jed's face. Wearily, he pulled it away, eyeing it with distaste. "Gee, thanks. I'll look like I'm wearing a dress." He unfolded the oversized shirt, revealing the front logo. "A Budwiser dress."  
  
"Hey, if you're gonna look like a pansy, might as well look like a drunken pansy. Not that you need help in that department."  
  
"Screw you."  
  
A soft groan caught Neff's attention. He cast a glance towards the bed, where a tangle of black hair could barely be seen beneath the thick pile of blankets. Somewhere amidst all that bedding, Mamoru lay in his little cocoon, gradually recovering from nearly being gored by a weapon that, for all intents and purposes, looked as though it had been designed by Fisher Price. Neff pulled the covers back a bit, revealing the face of his sleeping prince. It was pale, but not as pale as it had been. "He's looking better."  
  
Jed pulled the Budwiser t-shirt over his head. "Yeah, resilient bugger, ain't he? I think he must be getting stronger; he didn't used to heal that fast."  
  
"He didn't used to be able to do a lot of things." Neff had his hand wrapped around Mamoru's wrist, though his callused fingers were unaccustomed to the relatively delicate task of feeling a pulse. "His pulse is stronger than before, too. Weird as it sounds, I think he can regenerate blood cells the way he regenerates skin cells."  
  
Jed blanched. "...Ew. He's like... an amoebae or something. I hope he doesn't start dividing."  
  
Neff chuckled. "Or a starfish."  
  
"Hey, maybe he'll grow another arm! That would be so cool!"  
  
"The world's first three-armed doctor. He'd be a medical miracle."   
  
"Man, he's already a medical miracle. Any other guy would have died within seconds of that..." Jed bit his lip. "Anyway. How do you think Malachi's making out? His shoulder looked like shit."  
  
"I imagine the doctors at the hospital will patch him up right quick. Especially with Zory the Holy Terror on his side," Neff chuckled. "Remember when you had to have your appendix out?"  
  
Jed sighed, shaking his head. Did he remember? Why, he doubted he could ever forget. "I'm sure some of the nurses are still trying to get Zory's scream erased from their memories."  
  
"Scream? 'Feminine squeal,' more like." Neff bent down toward his prince, brushing some sweaty strands of hair away from his eyes. His face was twisted in confusion and grief, even in his sleep, and he continued to groan softly every now and then. His body may have been doing better, but his psyche was another story altogether.  
  
The brunette sighed, vaguely wishing that Malachi was here, rather than at the hospital. He dearly wanted to give his prince some comfort right now, even in his sleep, but when it came right down to it, Neff did not have the faintest idea of what he was doing. Malachi was actually good at making people feel better at times like this. It was a sort of gift, like how Mamoru could heal things without a second thought. He was a calming presence--sometimes, just being near him was enough to ease anxieties. If only Malachi was the one sitting here in this chair, resting his cool hand on Mamoru's face, Neff was pretty certain that his unconscious prince would not be ready to jump out of his skin right now.  
  
Zory's abilities were something similar, but not quite the same. Zory was the warm-hearted one. He was the one who reminded you that you're still loved, no matter how much you have come to despise yourself. He was the one who would not only comfort you when you cried, but would more likely than not end up crying right along with you. He was an incredibly empathetic creature and, Neff mused, the exact opposite of himself.  
  
Neff was about as empathetic as a shoe lace.  
  
Neff never knew what to do about emotional people. For Malachi, the usual response involved "hug, say something inspirational, then leave on a high note, such as telling a really lame joke." The formula seemed to work well enough, but Neff wasn't into the whole hugging thing, and the likelihood of him saying something inspirational were pretty close to nil. Besides, the last time he had tried that was on his soon-to-be ex-girlfriend, and the only thing that had got him was a slap in the face.  
  
Truth be told, he and Jed were the two least likely candidates to be at all helpful in this situation.  
  
"The best thing we can do right now is wait." It was as though Jed had read his mind, but seeing as how he was about as telepathic as Neff was empathetic, it was rather unlikely. The blonde smoothed out the enormous Budweiser shirt, just to keep his jittery hands occupied. "He's doing better, and there isn't much we can do until he wakes up. With any luck, Zory and Malachi will be back before that happens, and they can and hug each other and cry and all that other shit."  
  
"Yeah." Neff sat down gingerly at the edge of the bed, not taking his eyes away from Mamoru for a splitsecond.   
  
The black-haired prince visibly shuddered, despite the sweat that soaked his face. "Usa..." he mumbled almost imperceptibly.  
  
"Shit," Neff sighed. "He's gonna be one miserable prince when he wakes up, isn't he?"  
  
------  
  
For having the empathetic ability of a shoe lace, Neff was awfully astute. Because at that very moment, Chiba Mamoru was locked in the depths of what was very likely the worst nightmare of his life. A nightmare where he hurt his best friends. A nightmare where he blindly kissed a woman other than his Usako. A nightmare where everything that he deemed precious in this life was shattered by his own hand.  
  
Parts of the bloodbath drifted in and out of his consciousness - unconsciousness, rather.   
  
"Aren't you going to feel silly if you faint later because of this?"  
  
"You're all so bloody eager to protect me in this battle, there won't be any of you left for the next one."  
  
"Mamochan, you dense idiot, turn the hell around already and look at me!"  
  
Mamoru cried out, throwing his hands in front of his face, desperately trying to block out the images. It had all gone so well - they'd -won-, the clones were dead, he'd even tripped Jed out of a rare moment of humor!  
  
"Would you die for me, Mamochan?"  
  
"I mean this with the utmost respect when I say 'fuck you, Prince.'"  
  
They'd won! It was supposed to be over! Oh, but it was so far from over.   
  
"...Zory's gonna die after all, isn't he?"  
  
"You know that isn't true, Prince. Even if she leaves you, we never will. We will never, ever let you be lonely."   
  
But he was all alone, in this dark place, with only the memory of his actions and the blood on his hands. Mamoru sobbed, falling to his knees, trying to push everything away. He didn't want to remember, he didn't want to feel, he didn't want -anything-!  
  
"I have a secret for you, Mamochan. Would you like to hear it?"  
  
No, no, he never wanted to hear that voice again! He never wanted to hear -anything- ever again! Why wouldn't they just leave him alone?  
  
"It doesn't matter, Prince. What matters is that we all come away from this alive, and that's not gonna happen if you don't hurry up and take care of yourself."   
  
But they weren't all alive, no, not anymore. He had killed them. Hadn't he? He wasn't sure. He was seeing so many things, so much blood...  
  
"I'm going to hold on until one of you kills me. You'll have to blow my brains out before I'll let go."  
  
"If you don't stop it, you're going to die."  
  
He wished he had. It should have been him and not them. It should have been him getting blasted across the yard! It should have been him! Why did they have to protect him like that? Why did they have to let him hurt them?  
  
"Do you want me to hurt you? Because I could really hurt you right now."  
  
"I'm sorry!" Mamoru sobbed. He was sorry. He was sorry for hurting them, sorry for being so weak. He was sorry for coming into their lives and ruining everything. He was sorry that they ever met him. "They would have been better off without me. They would've been better off if we'd never met."  
  
"Even if the entire world abandons you, we never will."  
  
But he had abandoned them. Over and over again they had put their lives on the line for him, and at a moment's notice, he had dropped them like they were nothing. It was his fault. They were gone, and it was his fault. He had never deserved guardians like them. He had never deserved friends like them.   
  
And suddenly, over the voices and the crying that echoed in his own head, there came the sound of a slap. It cracked like a whip, silencing every other noise that had been pelting him for what had seemed like an eternity.  
  
"Don't you ever say that again!"  
  
Usako...that was Usako's voice! But what did one have to do with the other?  
  
Through the haze of guilt and regret that seemed to cover everything, he could see someone-eventually revealed to be Haruka-touching her cheek; she had obviously been the recipient of that slap. But was Usagi the one who had given it to her?  
  
"I don't care what you may think of Mamochan, or his behavior! He is still your Prince, Haruka-san, and I am still your Princess! He could very well be dying, and all you can think to talk about is how he may or may not have cheated on me!"  
  
"Usako, don't..." Mamoru's voice was hoarse, choking on tears as he watched his fiancé, his Odango, stand up to Haruka with all the passion and furor she had. And for him. Why for him? He didn't deserve it. He'd killed his four friends, and for the sake of what?  
  
For Lunette. Because he was too blind to see the truth, to see that she wasn't the one he loved. They had tried to warn him, tried to show him. But he wouldn't listen. And now all he had was himself and those gut-wrenching memories that would haunt him to the end of time.  
  
His Usako was crying. His Usako was defending him from her own friends.   
  
"Usako... please don't. Don't stand up for me, Usa. Don't cry for me. I don't deserve it. I've never deserved your tears."  
  
Somewhere in the conscious world, one of the black-haired prince's guardians uncomfortably turned away, trying not to see the tears that were rolling freely down Mamoru's cheeks.  
  
"It... it doesn't matter anyway, does it? He'll be okay, won't he? He's so strong. He's always been so strong."  
  
How could she say that? How could she possibly believe in him after all he had done? He wasn't strong. He had killed his best friends. He had fallen into a trap like the weakling that he was, and he had hurt the people who tried to help him. He had betrayed them and betrayed Usa and even, in some abstract way, betrayed the other senshi. And now what? Now he was alone, without any of them, just as he feared would happen. And he deserved every bit of it.  
  
He crumpled onto the ground, his knees drawn up to his face. "Please, just let me die. Someone, please, let me die."  
  
"No, Prince. We're not going to let you give up on yourself. Not now, not ever."  
  
That voice...that wasn't part of his nightmare. That was real. Quiet, heartbreakingly real. But who could it be? Everyone was dead. Weren't they? They had given him all their strength so he would heal himself, and then one by one they collapsed, giving him one last smile...and then what?   
  
"Prince, c'mon, wake up. You need to snap out of this, okay?"  
  
A gentle shake from a calloused hand, and the nightmare began to dissolve. He found himself no longer on his knees, but sprawled on his back, tangled up in fresh, sweet smelling sheets. And there above him was a strange, lumpy brunette that he couldn't quite make out past the tears.  
  
"Thank God, he's coming around. I don't think I could have taken any more of that." Another voice, hoarse with emotion. Did that mean it had been a nightmare after all? He hadn't killed them?  
  
"Prince, can you hear me?" Neff shook Mamoru gently, trying to bump him out of his half-conscious state. He'd worked himself to his emotional ends, and if he'd gone on much longer, the brunette probably would have imploded.   
  
It was supposed to be Kunzite who could feel their Prince's pain. That's how it always worked. Kunzite always knew when something was happening. And they would just follow his lead. But if he, Nephrite the Constipated Empath, could feel what was going on, it was serious.  
  
"Neff?" Mamoru's voice was so soft, it could barely qualify as a whisper. "Is that really you?"   
  
He sounded so disbelieving, so scared, which surprised Jed more than anything. He'd seen them all before he passed out. They had all been fine - well, okay, not really "fine," but something that passed for it. They had all made it out alive. So why wouldn't it really be them?  
  
"It was last time I checked," the brunette answered, slightly confused. No sooner had those words escaped his lips, then a very large black-haired blur vaulted up from the bed and planted itself in Neff's chest, latching onto him like a neurotic lobster. Neff stared wide-eyed down at Mamoru, too stunned to even feel the pain of having his already bruised chest and ribs squeezed. He gave Jed a desperate look, one that clearly read "what the hell am I supposed to do now?"  
  
Jed would have laughed, if it were not for how clearly upset his prince was. He moved around to the edge of the bed, sitting down behind Mamoru. "Hey, it's okay. It's okay, Prince." He rubbed Mamoru's trembling shoulders. "We're right here, Prince. We're not going anywhere."  
  
At a loss for anything else to do, Neff resigned himself to being the obligatory teddy bear. //Dammit, Zory, get your pansy ass back here. I'm about as useful right now as a condom in a convent.//  
  
The absence of Zory and Malachi was certainly not lost on a certain clingy Prince, either. Malachi and Zory hadn't spoken up yet. That was entirely unlike them, especially after such a battle. That could only mean that they weren't here. And that could only mean...  
  
No. They couldn't be dead. Neff and Jed were here; that meant that everything was okay. Everyone had survived. It had all been a nightmare.  
  
//But...but they'd -be- here. They're too overprotective -not- to be!//  
  
Neff craned his head over Mamoru's, giving Jed another desperate look. They were going to have to explain the lack of two very important people, and fast, before the Prince decided to come up with his own, unecessarily morbid explaination.  
  
"Prince--"  
  
"Where are Zory and Malachi?" Too late. The question would have sounded like a demand, if not for the hoarseness in his voice. He lifted his face from Neff's shirt, eyes darting frantically around the room as though his missing friends may be hiding beneath a desk somewhere. When neither a head of silver hair nor a blonde ponytail were forthcoming, he began to panic.   
  
The image of Zory, beaten and bleeding and laying cradled in his arms came back to him. //Oh no no, they can't be gone. They can't be, not now.//  
  
"Prince--"  
  
"Where are they? What happened to them?"  
  
"Prince, listen to me!" Neff put a firm hand on Mamoru's shoulder. His prince was certainly hard of hearing today. "They're fine--"  
  
"How can they be fine if they aren't here?"  
  
"Listen," the brunette continued sternly, his lack of patience getting the better of him. "They went to get Malachi's shoulder checked out. They're -fine-. I'm sure they're terrorizing hospital staff even as we speak."   
  
"Zory's a holy terror. Last time we were in there - my appendix and I had a small disagreement - at least four nurses had to take paid leave to regain their facilities." Jed's was obviously trying to lighten the mood, but as valiant as his efforts were, he wasn't really succeeding. Fringes of Mamoru's pain were still hovering on the edge of his consciousness - it had taken all of his mental capabilities to keep from passing out near the end of his nightmare. He'd never thought it possible that one person could feel so much self-loathing, but if anyone could, it was probably his prince. No, it was -definitely- his prince.  
  
"How bad was it? His shoulder?" As quickly as Mamoru had looked around the room, his eyes dropped to the floor.   
  
//"I mean this with the utmost respect when I say 'fuck you, Prince.'"//  
  
Mamoru was certainly glad that his guardians were still alive, there were no two ways about that. But the fact remained that while they weren't pushing up daisies, he -had- kicked them to the curb. Well, from the way that Neff and Jed looked, he'd kicked them across the street and to the -other- curb. Even after what passed for frat boy hygiene, they still looked, to put it nicely, like shit. And he had done that. Lunette hadn't helped, sure, but the damage she dealt was far smaller than what he'd done by his own hand.  
  
"Prince, I mean this with the utmost respect when I say 'stop that shit right this very second.' You're not going to start guilting yourself again, not after -that- miserable mind-fuck you just put yourself through," Jed said, voice carrying a lot more authority than he was sure he even had. But as soon as Mamoru's eyes drooped, he felt the tiniest hint of nausea creep up on him. Stupid damn Mam-O-Meter; this was Malachi's job, not his. "Okay? Promise me you're not going to start that again."  
  
"Start what again?" The black-haired man asked innocently, though he had a pretty good idea of what Jed was talking about. "Miserable mind-fuck" was certainly an adequate description of what he had been putting himself through recently, though he had no clue as to how Jed could know how thoroughly he had been mentally bashing his head in with a brick labeled "guilt".  
  
"Exactly what you're doing right now. You're not doing anyone any favors by torturing yourself over this, you got that? All you're doing is hurting yourself and making the rest of us feel sick."  
  
//Yeah, but it makes me feel better. I guess. In a twisted, masochistic sort of way.// He appreciated that Jed was trying to make him feel better in his own less-than-polished manner, but the fact that he and Neff were being so nice to him after he had beaten them both to a bloody pulp only served to fuel his guilt. Of course, he wasn't entirely sure what he would prefer instead. Maybe if they'd yell at him a bit? He would even be willing to let them hit him--he deserved far worse, after all. Or at the very least, if they wouldn't sit so close, in that obnoxiously reassuring manner.  
  
It was obvious to Mamoru that they had no other intention besides sitting there and keeping him company, exchanging concerned looks that they thought he couldn't see. He wanted to jump up and say, "What's wrong with you? I blasted you ten feet in the air and practically killed you! Why aren't you mad at me?"  
  
But he knew it wouldn't get him anywhere. They were so blinded by their joy at having him back that they he could probably lock them all in a closet with a rabid wildebeast and they'd still come out wanting to protect him at cost of life or limb.  
  
//They just don't get it.//  
  
"Get what, Prince?"  
  
Oh no. He'd said that out loud. Now what should he do? Should he just pass it off as the ramblings of some guy who was still recovering from having a wand shoved through his abdomen? Or should he explain what he'd meant?  
  
It would have been so easy to plead insanity. Considering how he had been acting lately, it probably would have been completely believable, too. That is, of course, if he had not happened to glance up at Jed's face, and see the sincere look of concern written beneath the cuts and bruises. He really didn't get it.  
  
"How can you just sit there?" He blurted suddenly, a bit louder than he had intended.   
  
"Prince?"  
  
"I just beat the shit out of you! I nearly killed you! How can you sit there and act like nothing happened? Get mad at me, yell at me, hit me, for God's sakes, do SOMETHING! Don't pretend that everything's okay just because I'm supposed to be your Prince or something stupid like that!"  
  
Jed stared at the black-haired man, caught off-guard by the sudden outburst. "Prince, no one blames you for what happened--"  
  
"Which is exactly my point! I wanted to KILL you, Jed. Don't you understand that? I wanted to kill my best friends. And you could have saved yourselves. You could have, but you didn't. Why didn't you get the hell away? Why didn't you try to protect yourselves?"  
  
"You know why, Prince. Because we're your guardians, and--"  
  
"Oh, don't fucking give me that guardian crap! I'm sick of hearing about that every time you throw yourselves in the path of an attack, just to keep me from getting a little hurt! If having guardians means that I can beat them to a bloody pulp and they come crawling back for more, then I sure as hell don't want them!"  
  
"Shut up, Prince." Neff's voice came booming somewhere just above Mamoru's ear, so unexpectedly that he was immediately silenced. The brunette was glaring down at him, his reddish-brown eyes more filled with fury than Mamoru had ever seen them. It suddenly occured to Mamoru just how frightening Neff must be when he loses his temper. "Just shut up now. You're the one who doesn't get it." He was not yelling. His voice was quiet. Frighteningly quiet.  
  
"It's all well and good for you to sit there and complain about everything. But while you're doing that, you're cheapening everything we've done for you."  
  
"I didn't mean--"  
  
"Yes, you did, Prince. You're cheapening what we've done and you're cheapening who we are as your guardians."  
  
"I..." Mamoru looked stricken. Terrified. And confounded beyond belief. "That's not it at all! I'm not saying I don't appreciate--"  
  
"That's exactly what you just said. In case you missed the memo, Prince, being your guardian means we're supposed to -guard- you. Or was your head too far up your ass when you were in Japan to figure that out when you were watching the Princess and her Senshi?" Neff was obviously having a hard time keeping the physical manifestations of his anger in check. Though his face was impassive, his hands were clenched at his sides, shaking ever so slightly. "I'm sorry this business can't be all light and fucking flowers, okay? But if you're going to be so goddamn suicidal every five seconds, we're -going- to step in whether you like it or not. And we are -going- to protect you. Even if you don't seem to want it."  
  
It seemed to Mamoru as though his entire frame of mind had slipped out of reality, and he was watching the scene as a fly on the ceiling. Every one of Neff's words was a slap to the face, but he was disconnected from it, as though his consciousness was hovering above him, like a balloon on a string.  
  
"Neff, don't you think--"  
  
"Zip it, Jed." Neff's tone left no room for dissention, and Jed's mouth shut with an audible "clack." The brunette was obviously itching to let out whatever rage he was so precariously keeping to himself, and Jed was already hurting plenty enough for this lifetime, thanks.  
  
"Prince, you won't remember this, but a long time ago, we pledged our allegiance to you. We gave our -lives- to you, Prince. That means something. It may not mean shit to you, but it means a lot to us. We broke that oath once, and I'll be damned if we do again. We're not going anywhere, you hear me? If you don't like it, you can finish what you were doing earlier and kill us off. There's no other way you'll ever make us stop protecting you."  
  
Mamoru did not know what to say. "I'm sorry" just did not seem to cover it. He had never considered what being a guardian meant to them. He knew they were devoted, of course, but not like this. He really had no idea.  
  
Neff took a breath, still shaking ever so slightly from his pent-up anger. The storm seemed to be fading from his eyes, though his hands continued to clench and unclench in painful-looking fists. After a moment he continued, in a much more even voice, "Prince, Malachi almost made a really big sacrifice for you today."  
  
Jed looked up in alarm. "Neff, don't." Malachi would kill them if they told Mamoru how much his memories were making him suffer. And not without reason, either. If their prince was guilting himself now, how much more would he torture himself if he knew what his head guardian had been going through?  
  
"He has to know, Jed." The two glared around Mamoru at each other, a silent argument playing out between them.  
  
"Know what?" Mamoru looked confusedly from one to the other, obviously not privvy to their non-verbal conversation. Of course he knew that Malachi had almost made a big sacrifice for him. He had almost died, hadn't he? They all had. So what else could there possibly be?  
  
"Neff, my vocabulary isn't big enough to adequately describe to you how shitty an idea this is. It's not like I can persuade you and your concrete-thick skull to change your mind, but could you get off your damn soapbox for a minute and just -think- about what you're about to say? For -once?-" Jed stood his ground. He'd been okay with the verbal lashing up to a point - yes, Mamoru was acting like an idiot. But this went beyond knocking him back to his senses. This was downright cruel. "He doesn't have to know."  
  
Neff stayed silent, glaring at Jed as he tried to wrestle with the idea that had seemed so good about a minute ago. Maybe it would be excessive to tell Mamoru what nearly happened. It -hadn't-, and that was the important thing. And his prince was already looking an unhealthy shade of pale. How much more damage would this revelation cause? And was there the possibility that it could push his self-loathing over the edge?  
  
Jed would have smiled, were the situation not quite so serious. He'd gotten through. Neff was just going to let it go. He let out a silent stream of air through his lips, unaware that he'd been holding his breath that whole time.  
  
"Prince...do you recall what Kunzite was like in the Dark Kingdom?"  
  
Almost instantaneously, Jed's stomach hit his feet. "Neff, for God's sake, let it go!" he shrilled, eyes wide with panic. No, no, this wasn't going to get them anywhere! Mamoru was understanding just fine; this wasn't the answer!  
  
The brunette remained solid as a rock, and equally as stubborn. "If I don't tell him, who will? Malachi? He's too much of a fucking saint to let anyone know what he's going through. He'll take this to his grave, and you know it."  
  
"It's not our place to talk about it, Neff. If Malachi doesn't want anyone to know, that's his decision, not ours!"  
  
Mamoru was definitely beginning to worry, now. Jed was not the kind of person to baby him. He had made that discovery clearly enough right around the time he had his arm pinned behind his back. So how bad could this piece of information be, that even he was trying to protect Mamoru from it?  
  
Neff was not backing down. He glared at Jed a moment longer, daring the blonde to stop him. Jed stood, throwing his hands up in frustration. "Fine, do whatever the hell you want. It's not like I can fucking stop you, anyway." He leaned up against the nearby desk, glaring daggers at the floor.  
  
The matter settled, Neff returned his attention to the prince sitting next to him. "You never answered my question."  
  
"Yes," Mamoru answered slowly, hesitatingly. He was not sure he wanted to know where this was going.   
  
"And you remember how he was like a completely different person? How he wasn't just 'Kunzite with different loyalties' or 'Kunzite with different powers,' but he was actually like an entirely different guy with the same name? How even his eyes were different?"  
  
Mamoru nodded, surpressing a slight shudder. He remembered those haunting, colorless eyes very clearly--far more clearly than he wished to. His Malachi was not supposed to look like that, with those empty, soulless eyes that contained only malice and a cold lust for power. The two people--the Kunzite of the Dark Kingdom and the real Kunzite, the one he had now--were about as similar as a wrench to a tsetse fly.   
  
"Malachi was going to bring him back." No sense beating around the bush, Neff thought. He'd gotten this far, after all. "He's been struggling to keep those memories from haunting him since he got them back. But he thought -that- Kunzite was the only way we could save you from that clone. We were all on the ground, about as useful as rag dolls, and he said, 'He... he doesn't feel pain like we do. He wouldn't be so weak. He could still do it.'"  
  
Neff looked straight at Mamoru then, but closed his eyes before he really got a good look at his prince. If he had, he probably would have just stopped the story where it was. Mamoru had begun to grip the bed with white knuckle fear, afraid of what his friend was telling him. If someone had touched him with a feather, he probably would have fainted.  
  
"The memories nealy killed him earlier, while you were still recovering." Neff swallowed hard. "He couldn't take them, Prince, not all at once. It hurt him so terribly. But he was willing to bring them back, to essentially surrender his body to that madman - for -your- sake. He knew we'd probably have to kill him afterwards. He knew we couldn't trust that Kunzite, and if he made a move to kill you, we'd have to act first. And he would have done it, if we hadn't talked him out of it."  
  
The silence stretched out as the full impact of Neff words slowly sank in. Jed's eyes were still fixed on the carpet, though he was no longer glaring at it furiously. It must have been a mighty interesting carpet, because Neff had taken to watching it, as well. Mamoru was not interested in carpets, though. He was still staring at Neff, still trying to comprehend just what his friend was getting at. "I... I don't understand. What are you telling me, that there's two Kunzites? That the one from the Dark Kingdom is... is still in him?"  
  
"That's exactly what I'm telling you."  
  
"And you would have killed him." Mamoru was finding it difficult to breathe. It felt as though the room was closing in on him. "He would have let that... thing take over, and you would have killed him."  
  
"To save you, yes." Neff's brown eyes were no longer flooded with anger when he looked up at Mamoru. "You have to understand, Prince, that for Malachi to become that other Kunzite, to become that thing that he once was... it would be becoming his greatest fear. Becoming the thing that he most despises. For Malachi, that would be a fate worse than death. He would be in tremendous agony, Prince. To kill him at that point would be an act of mercy."  
  
"He would have...for me..." Mamoru's vision dropped out of focus as he looked down at his hands, still clutching at the sheets as though they were the only thing keeping him in the room. In fact, they were. Every other nerve in his body was telling him to run, to get out of this house and find Malachi, or just run until he had no strength left and just pass out wherever he ended up.  
  
But first, he was really tempted to make a run for the bathroom, because what remained of his breakfast was slowly making its way back up from his stomach. The relevation, that Malachi would have succumbed to his worst fear, just to save him from that clone, was almost too much for him. He could have taken the lashing from Neff, and whatever he'd intended to do with his fists that he'd avoided by a hair's breadth. But not this. This, he could not take. Malachi probably intended to keep this secret from him forever, what he'd intended to do when everything was at its darkest.   
  
"Prince?" Jed broke the painful silence, moving away from the desk and towards Mamoru. He was looking even more sickly than before - not that he was particularly surprised - and it almost looked like he'd stopped breathing. The blonde reached out to touch his prince, to make sure he wasn't about to die or anything.  
  
"Get away from me, Jed. Please." Mamoru's voice was not much above a whisper, and he never took his eyes away from his hands.   
  
"Prince, I know this is a lot to take in. And I wish you'd never had to hear it." Jed nearly spat the last few words out, resuming the sour expression he'd given Neff before. It was only momentary, however, and while he pulled his hand away, he bent down to look at Mamoru's face. "But that's over with now. We just need to relax, regroup, stop thinking about what happened for now. We'll have plenty of time to strategize in the future. Right now, I think what you need is some comfort--"  
  
"I said get away from me!" Mamoru barked, jumping to his feet and taking a few unsteady steps toward the bedroom door. All the blood drained from his skin, blue eyes darting back and forth from Neff and Jed, he looked more like a zombie than a youthful med student. "Leave me alone! I don't deserve your comforting, okay, so just back the hell off!"  
  
Neff stood, taking a few wary steps towards Mamoru. "Prince, calm down. I didn't intend to scare you like this--"  
  
"I said back off, Neff! Just leave me the fuck alone, okay?" He had to get out of here. He had to be alone. Mamoru took a few more more steps towards the door, but staggered, making a very ungraceful descent onto the floor. Almost immediately, two guardians were standing near him, trying to help him up.  
  
"Please, just take it easy, okay Prince? It'll be alright--"   
  
"I said, get away from me!" Mamoru tried to wrench out of their grasp, but was doing a poor job of it, namely because they were the only thing holding him up. He needed to get out of here. It didn't matter where, he just needed out. He just needed to be alone, away from overprotective guardians.   
  
Jed felt the sudden burst of power before it happened. "Prince, wait!" He shouted, grabbing onto Mamoru's arm as though that could make him stay. The last he saw of his prince was a flash of blue eyes as they glanced up at him, filled with indescribable pain.  
  
The two Shitennou collapsed onto each other, grasping at thin air, as the object between them vanished. Their Prince was gone.  
  
"...Oh shit." Neff muttered, staring at the empty space between his arms.  
  
"You're fucking right, oh shit! We just lost our prince!"  
  
"Well then, go after him!"  
  
"Go after him? Neff, he just fucking teleported! He could be anywhere in the world right now! He could be back in fucking Japan, for all we know!"  
  
"Well, can't -we- do that? Teleport, I mean?" Neff knew he was grasping at straws. He knew he'd screwed this up royal, no pun intended. And he had no idea how he was going to fix it.   
  
"Not unless your dick just happens to be a Sailor crystal, you thickheaded moron!" Jed seethed, tangling his fingers into his short mess of hair. "God, I told you not to do that! I told you it was a fucking bad idea! But no, you always have the solution to everything, -don't- you, Neff? Your damned testosterone clogs up your logic!"  
  
Neff didn't respond to that, though he was tempted. After all, Jed wasn't exactly one to talk about hormone-influenced courses of action. But he deserved that. He'd crossed a line that shouldn't have been crossed, and all it had done was created a mountain out of a quite respectable little mole hill.  
  
"What are we going to tell Malachi and Zory when they get home?" The brunette massaged his temple with two fingers, trying to alleviate the inevitable throbbing that had begun to build there.   
  
"Besides the fact that you're an idiot?"  
  
"Yes, thank you, besides that."  
  
"We'll tell them... oh hell, I don't know!" Jed thumped down on the couch in a huff. "There's really no gentle way to say 'oh, by the way, we made Mamoru into an even -bigger- emotional wreck, then proceeded to lose him. He's probably somewhere in the vicinity of the planet. Oops.'"  
  
"...Malachi's gonna kill us, isn't he?"  
  
"No, he's going to kill -you.- He's going to break your neck with his good arm and then proceed to stomp you into a bloody pulp. And while he's at it, Zory will probably be ripping your hair out."  
  
"Well gee, thank you for that."  
  
"Any time."  
  
The two were silent for a moment, Jed seething on the couch while Neff stood awkwardly, trying to come up with some sort of solution. When nothing was forthcoming, he finally asked, "So what do we do now?"  
  
"Well, we can either start searching for him at random and maybe we'll run across him in the next decade or so. Or we can sit here and wait for Malachi and Zory to come back, bringing with them their inevitable wrath."  
  
Given the choice, Neff would have probably preferred the former. Unfortunately, the decision was not up to him, as at that moment he could hear the very distinct sound of two fratboys walking down the hallway outside their door.  
  
Malachi sighed, rubbing his sling unhappily as Zory led him carefully down the hall. "Must you do that, Zory? It's just a broken shoulder. That doesn't mean I can't -walk-."  
  
"I don't care. You had plenty of time to be macho all afternoon, Malachi, and now I'm going to baby you whether you like it or not." Zory meant it, too. They walked down the hall silently for awhile, the only noise the rattling of pills in the blonde's back pocket.  
  
//That's odd.// Malachi scanned the quiet hallways, white bangs flopping into his eyes. //Prince is awake, I can feel it, but the house is totally silent. Neff and Jed should be teasing each other mercilessly by this point. Maybe they opted for a nap?//  
  
"Dammit, Neff, you are such a fucking idiot."  
  
"You're going to get a lot of mileage out of that word today, aren't you?"  
  
"After -that-? Damn fucking straight."  
  
Zory glanced apprehensively up at his injured companion. He had managed to wash most of the blood off of his face and hands at the hospital, and convinced a concerned orderly that the red splatters on his clothes were the result of a ketchup incident. He had lost his beloved hair tie, however, and his dirty blonde hair now hung in thick waves around his shoulders.   
  
"You are a fucking idiot, Neff. Just a big fucking idiot."  
  
"I don't like the sound of that," the blonde said lowly.   
  
Malachi had to agree--something was not right here, and the raised voices coming from his bedroom were only serving to confirm that fact. Mamoru's darker emotions had climaxed right around the time Zory was leading him across the hospital parking lot. It had taken an awful lot of effort on Zory's part, both to talk him out of teleporting back to the frat house then and there, and to keep him from from dropping to his knees on the pavement. Things had settled down after that, but he even now he could feel the icy lump lingering in his stomach.   
  
Zory reached past Malachi and turned the knob to his bedroom door. As it swung open, Neff and Jed were revealed, sitting awkwardly on the floor, and looking...well, Neff looked like a kicked puppy. Jed looked like he was itching to put his fists through some walls. This would have been startling enough, except that Mamoru was nowhere to be seen. It was as though he'd just...disappeared.  
  
"Where's the Prince?" Malachi finally asked, trying to ignore the dread that was slowly swallowing up the lump in his stomach. "He's just in the bathroom, or something, right?"  
  
"I only wish," Neff muttered, slapping his palm on the carpet. Dammit, he should have listened to Jed. What kind of crazy-ass idea was that, anyway? How would that have helped anything?  
  
"I only wish," Neff muttered, slapping his palm on the carpet. Dammit, he should have listened to Jed. What kind of crazy-ass idea was that, anyway? How would that have helped anything?  
  
"Where is he?" Malachi asked again, more firmly this time. He was not panicking. Not yet, anyway.  
  
"Yeah, Neff, how about you tell them where he is." Jed gave his brunette friend a vicious look.  
  
Neff ran a hand through his long hair, looking uncharacteristically hesitant. "He's... well, uh, we... sort of... lost him."  
  
"You -lost- him?!" Zory positively shrieked. Malachi hurriedly shut the door behind them. No sense in alerting whoever else might be home right now. "Your job was to get him from the back yard to the bedroom in one piece and keep him safe until we got back! How the hell could you lose him?"  
  
Jed leaned back against the couch, crossing his arms and continuing to glare pointedly at Neff. Evidently, he was not going to offer any assistance in this situation.  
  
"We..." Neff glanced at Jed. "Okay, I... sort of told him about how Malachi was going to, you know, let the other Kunzite out."  
  
Zory could actually see the muscles tighten in Malachi's back, could see the way his jaw set and his eyes focused on Neff with that sharp intensity that would have made any lesser man shrivel within seconds. "You told him... what?" Zory didn't like the tone that had crept into his leader's voice. It was the sort of tone that usually set off warning bells in his mind, the one that said that his white-haired friend was treading in dangerous territory.  
  
"Are you insane?" Zory snapped at the brunette.  
  
"If I answer yes, will that save me from a sound beating?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Then no. No, I'm not."  
  
Zory inched slowly, incrementally away from Malachi. It wasn't that he didn't trust his leader, or was afraid that Malachi intended to come after -him-. But he didn't like the way he was looming over Neff, looking like he could have taken him apart limb by limb and then stomped on them. And all without breaking a sweat.  
  
"And why," Malachi said quietly, "would you do something like that, Neff?"  
  
"Because--"  
  
"He's a fucking idiot."  
  
"Yes, -thank you-, Jed!" Neff snapped, turning sharply on his friend. "We've firmly established that fact, okay? I'm the world's biggest fucking idiot! Stab, twist, I got it!"  
  
Malachi seemed to ignore their brief cat fight. He bent down at the waist, silver hair tumbling down and on top of Neff's head, as though he intended to say something. Neff looked up at him hesitantly, looking almost afraid of whatever was coming next. He'd expected an angry leader, but his precognitive skills weren't really reassuring and he still wanted to wet his pants.  
  
With lightning quick speed, Malachi wrapped his free hand around Neff's throat and yanked him to his feet. He spun on his heels and slammed the brunette roughly against the wall, abruptly shoving all the air out of his lungs. The action was so startling that as soon as Neff hit the wall, Zory let out a high-pitch shriek and fell on top of Jed, whimpering. This was most assuredly -not- good.   
  
Neff's eyes were huge with surprise. He struggled for breath, though none was forthcoming, both of his hands clawing at Malachi's good one in an attempt to pry it away. He had expected the white-haired man to be angry, of course, but never, ever, had he expected -this-. But when he looked into his friend's sharp green eyes, he saw a razor-like fury unlike anything he had seen in his lifetime, least of all in Malachi's. Centuries upon centuries of pain, torment, despair, hate, all rolled up into one single ball of wrath that was shooting like the strongest laser directly at -him- because how -dare- he share such a thing and how -dare- he treat it so lightly when he never ever knew what it was like to have to go through that and have to live with that day in and day out, night after deepest, darkest night, knowing all along that his worst fear and his worst enemy and the worst evil that has ever lived was himself.  
  
"Malachi, please let him go," Jed said timidly, looking almost as frightened as Zory. "Please, he didn't mean anything by it."  
  
Malachi was not listening. His body remained rigid, his hand still clamped firmly around the brunette's neck, unmoving despite Neff's frantic kicking and writhing.  
  
"Malachi, for God's sakes, let him go!" Zory shrilled. "Do you see what you're doing? I know you're angry, but this is what the old Kunzite did! He punished people who made him angry! You aren't like that! -You're no better than him when you act like this!-"  
  
The blonde's last comment echoed in the room, as nothing else could be heard but Neff's desperate labored breathing.  
  
"He's right." Neff barely choked out the words. "I know you're mad at me, Malachi, but please, don't do this. It's not what the Prince would want. You promised you wouldn't--"  
  
And then his words stopped abruptly, because it seemed he'd run out of air. Malachi didn't seem to give any indication of letting him go. The brunette continued to struggle under the powerful grip, but soon found darkness edging in on his vision, and his motions began to slow.  
  
It must be noted that Zory considered himself about as chickenshit as they come. If there was a fight to be fought, an argument to be argued, he'd just assume turn around and run to the nearest safe place. He was not phsyically intimidating, and wasn't the best at debates, anyway. But he saw Neff's face turn from red to purple, saw that Malachi was too embedded in his anger to understand or even care, and he had to take the chance. He was the only one who could.  
  
"Malachi, you're going to kill him! Let him go!" The petite blonde launched himself at his leader, ignoring Jed's indignant "oof" as he found a small foot in his gut. Zory did the only thing he could to get Malachi's attention when he hit the carpet - he slugged the white-haired man in the jaw as hard as he could.  
  
Being that he was strong enough to be holding a very heavy frat boy up for an extended period of time--using only one arm yet--not even Zory's strongest punch was enough to make Malachi lose his grip. But it did serve its intended purpose--it got his attention.  
  
For the first time, the white-haired man averted his gaze from the object of his wrath, staring at the small blonde next to him as if noticing him for the first time.  
  
"Stop it, Malachi!" Zory shouted, barely inches from his face. "You're hurting him, just stop it!"  
  
Green eyes flicked from the man screaming at him to the man quickly losing consciousness in his hand, then back again. Suddenly all the color drained from Malachi's face, taking with it the raw fury that had flooded his eyes. He released Neff, so abruptly that the brunette dropped to the floor, coughing and gasping for air.   
  
Malachi stumbled back, looking pale and shaky and not at all like the person who had been strangling one of his best friends ten seconds ago.   
  
Jed scrambled to his feet, ducking quickly past Malachi to help Neff to his feet. The brunette still couldn't get enough oxygen to satiate his starving lungs, and he was heaving as though he'd just run a marathon.  
  
"This just isn't your day, is it?" Jed said quietly, helping his friend to his feet and carefully propping him up on the bed. Neff just coughed, shaking his head as the purple flush slowly left his face. He kind of hoped someone - a fairy, God, even a purple elephant with wings - would pop in and offer him a do-over for the day. Or the last hour, anyway.  
  
A few feet away, Malachi was having his own trouble with breathing. He slumped against the wall, sucking in deep breath after deep breath in a futile attempt to steady himself. He rubbed the spot where his sling met his chest, which happened to be right over his heart, as though he were trying to push it back in or squash it altogether. His eyes were squeezed shut, in some combination of pain and self-anger.  
  
"Malachi, it's okay now. Take it easy." Zory leaned up against the wall Malachi also occupied, brushing some of the hair from his face. He let his hand linger on Malachi's cheek, feeling the smallest of tears under his small fingers. "It's okay now. Neff's going to be okay. Just take it easy."  
  
The blonde gingerly flexed his other hand, hoping that he had not broken it on Malachi's rather solid jaw. He was pretty sure he could move it alright, though he was certain that it was swelling up already. He did not dare inspect it right now, not while Malachi was on the verge of hyperventilating right in front of him. "It's alright, Malachi. It's alright."  
  
Despite his comforting words, Malachi did not look the least bit alright. He was gulping in air as desperately as Neff was, and having even less success at it. Eventually even the act of standing up became too much effort. He crumpled against the wall, saved from dropping to the floor only by Zory's outstretched arm. "Easy, Malachi. Take it easy, buddy." Unable to hold him up, the blonde eased him onto the carpet, trying to lean him against the wall in such a way that his injured shoulder would not be hurt.   
  
"Malachi, can you open your eyes for me? I need you to look at me." Zory knew that he needed to get his friend to listen to him enough to calm down. He also knew that he needed to make sure that his eyes were the right color.   
  
"I...can't," Malachi whispered hoarsely. "I'm afraid to. I'm afraid of what I've done..."  
  
Zory harshly swallowed an exasperated sigh before it got to his lips. Hadn't they already been over this? "Malachi, please, for me? I know this is difficult. But you need to stay calm. We still need to find the Prince, remember? I'm not saying to squash you feelings entirely, but we need to pull together for him. Okay?"  
  
Slowly, tentatively, Malachi's eyelids fluttered and opened. Again, Zory had to swallow a sigh - this time of relief - when he found watery green eyes looking back at him. Well, the watery part was a little disconcerting, he admitted, but they were -green- and that was what mattered. That had just been an extraordinarily angry Malachi, not evil bastard Kunzite. It was a small reassurence, but it was all Zory needed.  
  
"Neff did a stupid thing, Malachi, I won't deny it. And you have a right to get angry. Maybe just...not -that- angry," Zory said carefully, knowing full well how shaky this territory was. "But you stopped, okay? He'll have a bruised windpipe, not to mention pride. But it's okay now. Can you trust me on that?"  
  
"You'd better trust him," Neff croaked, revealing that his windpipes were indeed a bit bruised. Now they joined the elite club that the rest of his body had fallen into earlier in the day. "Otherwise, he's going to hug you to death, and really, what a way to go, huh?"  
  
That should have been funny, but no one was laughing. Malachi's chest was still heaving, though his ragged gasps were slowing to a slightly more normal level. He closed his eyes for a moment, mostly to fight back the sharp pain in his chest. "Don't close your eyes," Zory softly commanded, gently touching Malachi's face. "Just keep your eyes on me, alright? Just keep listening to my voice, Malachi. I'm not going to let you give in to this. You're too strong to let this beat you. We just need to calm down so we can go find Mamoru."  
  
Neff looked on from his position on the bed, idly rubbing at his throat. That was twice today that he had nearly been killed by a close friend. As the old saying went, he sure as heck did not need enemies as long as these guys were around.   
  
Not that he could blame Malachi for what had happened. He had known that this was causing his friend a lot of pain--no one could have seen the way he looked after his little bathroom incident and not known that--but he had no idea just how deeply that pain was tormenting him until he saw that furious look in his eyes. It was as though, at that moment when he was being strangled, he had looked right into the core of Malachi's suffering, had seen first-hand how it was eating him inside. What amazed Neff more than anything was not that the white-haired man had lost it just now, but that he did not lose it more often.  
  
"You're sure Neff's okay?" Malachi asked hesitantly, sounding in no small part as though he wasn't entirely awake. Zory figured that he'd finally hit his breaking point - the white-haired man was notorious for all-nighters when he had to, and could go multiple days on an hour's sleep if need be. But the last few days had been more physically, emotionally and spiritually exhausting than any the blonde could imagine encountering anywhere before, not even in the worst of melodramas.  
  
"I'll be honest," Neff croaked again, slipping his hand around the side of his neck, feeling it throb. "I'm not particularly enjoying this, but I'm okay, Malachi. I'm a tough fucking idiot, okay? Someone would have to bash my head in to really do a lot of damage, and I know what you're thinking, Jed, so you can just stop it."  
  
Jed managed a weak smile - he'd actually been thinking about where Mamoru could have disappeared to, and how they would go about finding him, but he knew Neff was trying hard to lighten the mood, and draw the attention away from Malachi's rage and back to his ineptitude. Really, the blonde knew he had tried has best, had been so desperate to show Mamoru how much they cared that he lost all sense of what was appropriate, and what could cause serious blows to their Prince's genetically faulty self-esteem.   
  
"I'd never think such a thing," he said quietly, lightly bumping his friend's shoulder with his own.  
  
The brunette gave him a small, friendly smirk. "Like hell you wouldn't."  
  
Malachi knew it was true. Neff was probably the toughest person he knew--always had been, even without Nephrite's added strength. He had seen him bounce back after being on the painful end of a ten-man dogpile, had seen him wave off sprained ankles and broken fingers like they were nothing. Once, a cooking accident had sent him to the emergency room with a severe grease burn spanning his entire left arm, and while everyone else was panicking about getting him to the hospital, Neff's only real concern had been whether his arm would be functioning enough for him to pass his International Cuisine 100 exam on Monday. He knew his friend was a tough fucking idiot, but that did not make him feel much better.  
  
The white-haired man swallowed, feeling a little more stable now. Yeah, he had reached his breaking point, and then proceeded to bash it to pieces with a baseball bat, but this was not the time to be having a nervous breakdown, regardless of how nice it would be to have such a luxury. He had a prince to find, people to protect, clones to kill, and all that other important super hero-y stuff. And even though he felt like shit, was ready to declare himself the scum of the earth and curl up in a fetal position in the corner and cry and rock himself to sleep like the pathetic loser that he was, he had far more important things to be doing right now. So he was going to do what he always did--he was going to get a grip, push all these self-destructive emotions aside for now, and get back to doing what he was supposed to be doing, which was protecting his prince first and leading the Shitennou second. He would get right on that, just as soon as he could stand up again.  
  
Zory craned his neck around to view as much of Neff as he could, without taking his eyes off Malachi in the process. "Do you have -any- idea where Mamoru could have gone?"  
  
The brief flare of humor on Neff's face died pretty quickly with that thought. "None at all. He just said he had to get out of here and, well, he did just that. He could be down the block, in Sacremento, back home in Japan, or on Neptune for all we know. And don't count that last one out, considering how...accurate his teleporting skills are. He's getting better, but you really think he meant to end up on your bed when he teleported out of Harmony's way?"  
  
"Knowing him, he may have ended up in the broom closet in the Biological Sciences department." This thought comforted Jed little, even as he spoke it aloud. If Mamoru -had- ended up somewhere nearby, accidentally or otherwise, he sure wouldn't stay there long. He imagined his Prince wanted to be as far away from his mess as he could, and the blonde didn't blame him.  
  
Zory sighed. "Well he couldn't have gone far. He's not exactly in the best of health right now, even if he is completely healed."  
  
"He didn't go far," Malachi affirmed softly, resting his arm on his knee and watching it as though it were of great importance. "He's pretty close."  
  
The blonde turned back to his leader, watching him. "You know where he is?"  
  
Malachi shook his head. "Not exactly, no. I know that he's pretty close by, but I can't pinpoint him. He's not hurt, so I don't think we have to worry about him being in any danger, yet."  
  
"Well that's a start, anyway," Jed said, fighting the urge to sigh wearily. This day did not look like it would be ending any time soon.  
  
"I think the best way would be to start looking for him on foot. Teleporting at random won't help much and, to be honest, I'd rather not catch him by surprise like that. I think I've got an idea of what direction he's in." As he spoke, Malachi pushed himself to his feet, leaning on the wall for support. Good thing he was on so many pain killers right now; otherwise he probably would have jarred his shoulder from the effort.   
  
"And just where do you think you're going?" Zory asked, reverting to his beloved role as the Mother Hen.  
  
The white-haired man, now in decent enough shape to cross the room without stumbling too much, paused to grab his leather jacket off the back of the chair. "To find my Prince, of course."  
  
The blonde only barely managed to fight back the urge to complain about his leader's stubbornness. The guy had, after all, only recently been released from the hospital for a broken shoulder, and was just now recovering from his second mental breakdown in as many days. If it were up to Zory, he would be confined to his bed for the next week, not wandering the streets aimlessly in search of a lost Mamoru.  
  
He sighed, taking the jacket out of Malachi's arm and helping him into it. "I know I can't talk you out of going, so I'm not even going to try. You're just going to keep right on being the stubborn jackass that you are."   
  
Malachi turned from adjusting his jacket to give the blonde a faint smile. "Thanks, Zory. I love you too."  
  
"But that doesn't mean we're not going with you. I'll let you go, Malachi, but I sure as hell won't let you go walking around by yourself."  
  
Malachi wearily ran his fingers through his silky white hair, as though he had been expecting this. "Thing is, I'd sort of like to talk to him alone. It's all well and good to find him, but once we do that, we sort of need to convince him to come back."  
  
"You can talk to him alone when we find him. Until then, you're stuck with us for company."  
  
"And don't think you can talk us out of it," Neff warned, a little more loudly than he intended. He winced, touching his sore throat. He'd just relegate himself to silence for this outing, he decided, lest he keep wincing through the entire thing and guilt Malachi even further.   
  
Noticing Neff's discomfort, Jed picked up the slack. "What the idiot said. We're coming with you to search, but as soon as we find him, at least Neff and I should make ourselves scarce. Since we did kind of make a mess of things in the first place."  
  
"Well, I obviously have no room to argue." Malachi sighed, in his own long-suffering kind of way. Four sets of eyes were better than one, he had to admit, even if he had wanted to go out on his own, not only to search but to...think. About various things, not the leat of which was what he was going to say to Mamoru when they found him.  
  
He opened the door with his good arm, and then gestured outward. "Come on, then. We're wasting daylight. Sunset's in an hour, and I think we broke the flashlights when the fusebox blew out last May."  
  
"Is there anything in this house we haven't managed to break?" Zory muttered ruefully, shaking his head as he walked past.  
  
Neff touched his throat gingerly as he stood. //Between everything animate and -in-animate in this house? Unfortunately, there's very little left.//  
  
As they headed outside, Malachi was more than a little relieved that they did not encounter anyone. It would be rather difficult to explain why the four of them looked broken and bruised and generally like they had had the crap beaten out of them, which, unfortunately, was true. At some point they would probably have to come up with some logical explanation for it, though at the moment his mind was far too focused on other matters to bother with it.   
  
"Which way, Malachi?" Jed asked, stepping onto the sidewalk.  
  
The white-haired man paused, reaching out with his senses for the familiar golden warmth that he knew to be his prince.   
  
"He's south," Malachi finally said, trying to feel around and pick up any other familiar landmarks in Mamoru's area. "Like he's in the vicinity of the mall [1], or the soccer field."  
  
"Should we take the car?" Jed considered whether or not they'd be able to make it that far on foot. It wasn't more than a couple of miles from the house, but while they could have done it easily on a normal day, this was hardly a normal day.  
  
"I'll get it," Neff volunteered, a little too eagerly. When he saw Malachi wince, he wished he hadn't jumped at the opportunity. He wanted to stay away from his friend to ease his guilt, not add to it. Besides, if he stayed in the car, Mamoru wouldn't be as likely to see him and take off.  
  
"I just meant in case we got tired. Or for the trip back. I'm not trying to run away, I promise," the brunette added carefully.  
  
Malachi rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly becoming rather interested in the pavement at his feet. "Yeah. Okay. We'll meet you there, then."  
  
Before the brunette could give him response, the silver-haired man had already turned his back on him and started down the street, leaving three slightly perplexed friends behind.  
  
"He pretty much hates me right now, doesn't he?" Neff muttered.  
  
"He's having a really bad day, Neff. Just give him a while to deal with all this, alright?" Zory pushed his blonde hair out of his face, watching his leader's back gradually receeding down the street. "It's not even really about you." In a sudden energetic movement, he grabbed the keys out of his back pocket and deposited them in the taller man's hand. "The shitmobile needs gas. You might want to think about throwing out some of those old Big Mac containers while you're at it. They're starting to smell like some furry creature climbed inside them and died. And I don't want to think about whether that really is what I'm smelling."  
  
"Oh, sure. I'll even splurge get one of those pine-scented car fresheners while I'm at it. All fancy-like."  
  
With a half-hearted salute, Neff turned in the opposite direction and headed for the parking lot, where their aforementinoed shitmobile was parked. Jed stood for a moment, watching as his friend continued down the sidewalk and disappeaered around a corner. If they all didn't spontaneously combust in the next few days, it would be a major achievement.   
  
"C'mon." Zory touched Jed's shoulder, which nearly made him jump out of his shirt. (Well, it was Malachi's shirt, but no one was concerned about technicalities.) "Our esteemed leader is getting away."  
  
The small blonde looked down the sidewalk at Malachi's retreating backside; he'd almost walked two blocks in as many minutes. "And I don't want him to be alone now. Malachi's great when he's level-headed, but he's just as much of a loose cannon as Mamoru is right now. And the last thing we need is -two- suicidal manaics in our midst."  
  
"Oh, wouldn't that be fun. I think I'm gonna collapse from exhaustion just from dealing with one of them." The two blondes started after their fearless leader, picking up their pace to catch up with him.   
  
Zory shook his head, watching the bobbing head of silver hair closely to make sure it would not jump into oncoming traffic or anything. "I tell you, those are two guys who really don't need evil clones attacking them to make them feel like shit. Mamoru is so determined to beat himself up over every little thing, it's a wonder he can get out of bed in the morning. And Malachi doesn't have time to stress over little things, because he's too busy trying to carry the whole freaking universe on his back. With one arm in a sling."  
  
Jed chuckled. "They were made for each other, weren't they?"  
  
"Don't let Malachi hear you say that. He's still all worried about that rumor."  
  
"You can't honestly tell me that, even in some capacity, Malachi doesn't want in his pants."  
  
Zory snorted, somewhere between a choke and a laugh. "You can take it up with him some time -other- than now, okay? Unless I can add your name to the list of people with a death wish."  
  
"No, no, I'm perfectly content to stay alive right now." Jed kicked a Pepsi can out of his path. "I'm just saying. It's not like I'm saying they're going to run off and get married. I doubt the Princess would take kindly to that, anyway. But, you know, they have a lot in common."  
  
"Sparkly powers and floofy costumes with capes notwithstanding?"  
  
"Yes, sparkly powers and floofy capes notwithstanding."  
  
"Well they are awfully close, even by Malachi's huggy standards. I don't know how the hell he got a guy who is nervous about kissing his own girlfriend in public to snuggle on the same bed with him, but I suppose if anyone can swing it, it's Malachi." Zory grinned. "He's like a giant teddy bear."  
  
"Yeah, a giant teddy bear who can put your head in the wall if you cross him. He'd be the sort of stuffed animal to come equipped with claws. Or, you know, a machine gun."   
  
"If the enemy could be neutralized by a hug, I'm sure we'd never have to fight again. He'd defeat the whole lot of 'em."  
  
It was Jed's turn to snort. "Well honestly, I think the guy's more gender confused than you--no offense. I've yet to see him even look at a member of the female species, let alone even consider dating one."  
  
"Not everyone can be a chick magnet like you, Jed."  
  
The blue-eyed man sighed nobly. "Yes, it's difficult, but someone's gotta be me."   
  
"Otherwise, we'd have two Neffs."  
  
"And one is more than enough," Jed agreed. He watched as Malachi turned the corner on to the El Camino, and as the pair of blondes came up behind him, they both sighed quietly in relief that the silver-haired man hadn't taken one look at the rush hour traffic and decided to go play in it. All kidding aside, he -was- still in a great deal of pain, and they did need to keep an eye on him.  
  
From behind, they could hear Old Bertha the Shitmobile piling down the street, coming to a screeching halt at the intersection. Neff rolled the window down by hand - with a crank, as it wasn't electric - and stuck his head out. "You two pretty boys want a ride?"  
  
"Who you calling pretty?" Jed crossed his arms in what should have been a very manly gesture, if not for the immense dress-like Budweiser shirt.  
  
"I was talking about Zory and Malachi," Neff clarified, turning to Zory. "You can leave your drunken sister at home, blondie. She whines too much, anyway."  
  
"Oh, you're hilarious," Jed grumbled, wrenching open the passenger door.  
  
Zory grabbed his arm. "Uh-uh, there's no way I'm sitting in the back. Who knows what lives back there."  
  
"Aww, is widdle Zowy afwaid of a few moldy fwench fwies?"  
  
The blonde wrinkled his nose in disgust. "I'm afraid they'll start crawling up my leg and suck my blood."  
  
"Look, I don't care if one of you rides in the trunk, or what. But you'd better work it out before we lose Malachi." Neff leaned on the steering wheel, watching the white-haired man through the bug-smeared windshield.  
  
"Tell you what. I'll protect you from the fast food leeches, you little wuss; get in front already. But don't complain to me when you have to be downwind of Neff's righteously awful BO." Jed fiddled with the back door of the car, having to wrench it in about four directions and then practically pull it out of the frame before the door opened. A few Coke cans hit the pavement with weak "clanks," followed by what looked to be a plastic bag with condom wrappers.  
  
"Okay, now I -definitely- want to be in the front, righteously awful BO or no." Zory skittered around the front of the car as Jed picked up the newly deposited mess. He had to perform an equally awkward hand dance to get the door open, but finally he too managed to get it open. "Do you guys -ever- clean out this dumpster?"  
  
"About every six weeks."  
  
"I think I speak for every sane, right-minded man in the world when I say, 'eew.'"  
  
Now situated in the aforementioned dumpster, Zory hastily buckled his seatbelt as they pulled away from the curb. Malachi was a good two blocks away by now, and steadily widening the gap, as though he fully intended to diminish his troubles by out-walking them.   
  
"I thought you said you'd take care of the smell," Zory grumbled.  
  
"I did. See?" The brunette flicked the cheerful little pine tree hanging from the rear-view mirror.   
  
"Apparently that piece of cardboard is no match for the Shitmobile's overpowering aroma."  
  
"Maybe we should get a real pine tree. It couldn't possibly be any worse." Jed struggled with his seatbelt for a while before finally giving up. The back ones never worked, anyway.  
  
The Oldsmobile continued to chug away as Neff pulled up beside Malachi. Despite the distinctive clatter of everyone's favorite car, the white-haired man continued pacing forward, his eyes on the sidewalk immediately below him, as though he did not even notice.  
  
"Someone call him," Neff said, both hoping to save his vocal chords and his life.  
  
"Hey, sexy!" Jed called, rolling down the window. "Need a lift?"  
  
Startled out of his own thoughts, the white-haired man regarded Jed's beaming face with a sober look. "I can walk just fine, thanks. The Oldsmobile looks like it's gonna croak, anyway."  
  
"Bertha misses you, man! You don't visit her enough. You gotta give the girl some loving."  
  
Malachi didn't seem too concerned about it - or much of anything that didn't involve his likely overwrought self-disgust, or staring at his shoes. Jed resisted the urge to sigh, and simply kept a smile plastered to his face as the decrepit car lurched and jerked its way down the busy thoroughfare.   
  
Neff tried to drive at a speed with which Malachi could keep up, now that they weren't playing a game of "catch up," but there was a giant red Hummer bearing down on his back, which was making him not the least bit nervous. Fortunately, it was only so many blocks until they reached the mall, and the Hummer eventually changed lanes and zoomed off toward downtown Atherton.   
  
"Jerk," the brunette muttered sourly, resisting the urge to roll his eyes (as he did need to keep them on the road). "Bet he was on his cellphone, too. Damn California drivers."  
  
"C'mon, man!" Jed rested his arms on the window, leaning farther out. "The party's no fun without your pretty self!"  
  
Not feeling particularly enthusiastic about the "party," the white-haired man continued to watch his feet steadily hitting the pavement one after the other. He no longer seemed quite as interested in finding Mamoru as he was in the act of getting there.  
  
The grin faded from Jed's face. "Malachi, don't do this, alright? You're not gonna accomplish anything by wearing yourself out even more. Just get in the car, and we'll go see Mamoru."  
  
Malachi finally came to a halt, his head still turned downward so that his hair hung in a silver curtain around his face. Neff pulled over to the curb, relieved that he could finally get out of the dangerous traffic.   
  
Jed played around with the door handle until the rusting piece of metal swung open, nearly hitting Malachi in the leg when he didn't bother to move. The blonde scooted across the litter encrusted seat to give his friend room, disentangling his foot from a string of chili-shaped party lights.  
  
Malachi climbed into the Oldsmobile slowly, landing with a heavy plop as he pulled the rusty door in after him. Normally, this would have been the time he made a comment about its general state of disrepair, and some crude refuse artifact to go along with it. But as Neff clicked his right signal and merged back into the bustling traffic, he was silent, watching the neatly pruned trees, brick buildings and restaurants blur by.  
  
By the time Neff pulled out of traffic again and parked across from the soccer field, Jed was on the verge of shouting something just to break the tense silence. Neff had stared at the road as though he were expecting something to jump in front of him any second. Zory kept himself occupied by trying to pick off a strange, unidentifiable yellow mass from his seatbelt. And Malachi did what he'd -been- doing: staring, and little else.   
  
//What's that one Great Big Sea song? "Let it go, let it go / this is smaller than you know / it's no bigger than a pebble lying on a gravel road?" Though I doubt he'd appreciate the reference now.//   
  
"C'mon, gents. The sun's going to set in an hour, and we have a Prince to find."  
  
Three men fought their way out of the battered shitmobile, Neff apparently making good on his decision to stay with the car.   
  
"Should we check the mall?" Zory wondered, eyeing the crowded parking lot. He did not particularly relish the notion of wading through crowds of people to find the Japanese man.  
  
Malachi vaguely shook his head, scanning the soccer field across the busy street. Mamoru was looking to be alone; he would stay as far away from crowds as he could.   
  
It was not long before he spotted a dark-haired figure slumped by the edges of the field, sitting in a dreary heap on the damp grass. Even from here he could see the dark streaks of red that stained his Prince's bloodied t-shirt in a sort of grotesque form of tie-dye.  
  
"Stay here." It was not so much of an order as a request that Malachi gave them. He gave both blondes a beseeching look, one that neither man could have disobeyed if they'd wanted to. When neither moved from their position by the car, the silver-haired man turned and began to walk across the field, long shadows occasionally obscuring him entirely from view.  
  
"They'll be okay," Zory whispered, though whether he was trying to reassure himself or Jed he did not know. He leaned up against his friend, lines of exhaustion clearly visible on his face.  
  
The white-haired man approached Mamoru slowly, whether out of respect for his Prince or due to his own exhaustion, even he could not tell. The black-haired man made no movement as Malachi drew up behind him, did not even acknowledge that he was there. But he knew. Malachi was not altogether sure what told him this, whether by their mental connection or some subtle change in the way he was sitting or something else altogether, but neither had to say anything to know that they were both aware of each other's presence.  
  
The white-haired man watched Mamoru's unmoving back, both gathering his own thoughts and debating on whether he would actually be welcome to intrude on his Prince's reverie. After a moment he gave a slight sigh, removed his leather jacket, and proceeded to drop it unceremoniously somewhere in the vicinity of his Prince's head. "You shouldn't be walking around looking like that. You look like the victim of some car crash."  
  
Mamoru jumped slightly at the unexpected heavy weight crashing down on his head. Normally this would be the point where he either shot Malachi a good-natured dirty look, or made a snappy comment about how he was one to talk, but he felt inclined to do neither. Besides, a quick glance down at himself told him that the white-haired man was right--his shirt, especially, was so ripped and blood-soaked that it was now impossible to determine what it used to say. It was a wonder he had not been picked up by a passing police officer.   
  
He pulled Malachi's jacket around him, surrounding himself with his friend's trademark smells of leather, of mint, and, inexplicably, of fresh snow. The white-haired man awkwardly settled down next to him, folding himself into a position that did not involve too much pain.  
  
"You okay?" Mamoru asked after a moment, his eyes watching the deserted field like an avid spectator of growing grass. His voice was thick and ragged. He had obviously been crying.  
  
"I'm just fine. Doctors said I'll be good in a few weeks, long as I don't try to lift anything heavy, like maybe a paper clip."  
  
"Didn't expect you to be out of there so quick."  
  
"I had Zory The Holy Terror on my side. He threatened to maim a unit clerk with a pencil."  
  
"Does it hurt much?"  
  
"Nope. I honestly can't feel anything at this point."  
  
Mamoru threw him a sidelong glance. "How many painkillers have they got you on?"  
  
"Oh, far too many." Malachi gave him a glassy smile.  
  
"Are they all necessary?"  
  
"Probably not. But Zory's going to force me to take them, one way or the other, because he secretly has a thing for bossing me around. I imagine he'll insist on opening every door I need to get through, and picking up every thing I need to use for the next 48 hours, just so I don't overdo it." The silver-haired man chuckled, though it wasn't particularly convincing. "He's still mad about the time I sprained my ankle and proceeded to spend the next day and a half on my feet, working on a study for Statistics."  
  
Mamoru made a noncomittal noise, for lack of anything to say. Well, that wasn't entirely true. He had plenty to say, plenty to ask and demand and cry out about, but he couldn't. There was something strange in the atmosphere, something he'd missed after he'd left the frat house. Whatever had taken place, it seemed to have jarred all four of them, to the point where their discomfort was almost palpable, even from across the field. The black-haired prince reached out to his guardian, trying to discern what was causing him to look and feel so miserable.   
  
He almost winced when his mental shields rubbed sharply against one very powerful mess of emotions, the strongest being one that he was not altogether unfamiliar with. //Guilt. Malachi, what on Earth could -you- be feeling guilty about? I'm not mad that you probably never would have told me about the stupid thing you almost did for me. The others aren't mad; they'd be worried, but not upset. Do you...regret the decision? Do you wish you hadn't considered facing your fear for me? Do you wish you'd followed through?//  
  
"Little bastard wouldn't even let me come get you on my own. He's got it in his head that I need babysitting now." He made another forced attempt at chuckling. "Apparently having a broken shoulder means that I no longer have the ability to walk."  
  
"How long did you intend to keep up this act?" There. He had said it. The formalities having been dropped, the white-haired man went silent, unsure of how to proceed without releasing a torrent of emotions that he would just rather keep bottled up for now. He was here to comfort Mamoru, not the other way around, and the last thing he wanted right now was to subject his prince to all the pain he was going through.  
  
When no answer was forthcoming, Mamoru turned to his guardian, watching him as he stared at the neatly cut grass. He was immediately stricken with the same notion that had struck Zory the day before--that Malachi looked a lot older than he should have looked right now. His face was creased with exhaustion, with worry, and even... pain? It seemed to reflect the many centuries his mind had traversed, as though physically bringing him up to speed on all that he had experienced mentally. His white hair had always made him appear a little older than he really was, but right now if Mamoru had to hazard a guess, he would have placed his friend's age right up there with some of his professors'.  
  
"As long as I had to, I suppose," Malachi said quietly, choosing the most neutral answer that came to mind. "You have every right to be mad at me..."  
  
"I'm not mad at you, alright? Let's just get that straight." //So stop feeling so guilty. We only need one of me, Malachi.//  
  
//Well, he was certainly forthcoming about -that-. Whether or not he means it...No. He's not the type to lie. Make himself phsyically ill with depression, yes, but not lie.// "So, what has you all worked up, then, if not what I di--almost did?"  
  
"What -I- did. Malachi..." Mamoru paused, having to put a tremendous amount of effort into keeping his eyes locked on his guardian.   
  
"No. Don't even start, Prince. You were concussed. You were hallucinating. I'm not exactly happy about my shoulder, but I'd sooner have it chopped clean off by Ne--...sooner have it taken clean off than start hating you for it."  
  
Malachi hoped his prince didn't notice the sudden falter, the crack in his voice, but he would have had to be entirely deaf to miss it. //Damn. That was incredibly -smooth-, Malachi. Way to keep him from worrying.//  
  
Mamoru hardly missed the slip, and indeed it only increased his concern. //What -is- going on? Did he and Neff have a falling out? Over what Neff told me?// Whatever it was, Malachi did not seem inclined to share. The only thing was to keep going with this topic, wherever it was leading.   
  
"I know you won't hate me for it. I know none of you will hate me for it. Neff..." he noticed his guardian's wince, wondering whether that confirmed his suspicians, "he and Jed made that point clearly enough. But that doesn't change the fact that I nearly killed you. And it doesn't change the fact that you... you nearly..." Mamoru took a breath, turning back to watch the empty field. Heavy clouds were moving in above them, the setting sun glowing through the gap between them and the horizon in brilliant shades of orange and pink. It looked like it might rain tonight. "A lot of things happened today that should never have happened, and I can't tell you how sorry I am for it."  
  
"You forget who you're talking to, Prince. Do you think I don't know what it's like being controlled by the enemy?"  
  
Mamoru glanced at his friend. "Yeah, I guess you do," he said softly, keeping his hands occupied by ripping bits of grass out of the ground and piling the blades in a small heap.  
  
Malachi sighed, watching the sky. "Well you're right about one thing. A lot of things did happen today that never should have happened. But you have no reason to be blaming yourself for all of it. If anything, I'm far more responsible for all of this than you are."  
  
"I don't see the logic in that. My memory's a little fuzzy, Malachi, but I'm pretty damn sure that was me blasting you across the yard."  
  
"Then I guess you didn't notice how many times this whole mess could have been averted if I had been on top of things like I was supposed to be. I should have sent Neff to fight Sanura and stayed near you. I should have interfered when you went to kiss Lunette. I should have been the one to help you when you got the concussion, and let the others take care of the bad guy. I shouldn't have thrown Zory the Tier."  
  
"Malachi, hindsight is 20/20. You know that."  
  
"Yeah? So why don't -you-?" Malachi retorted. "I'm most definitely -not- letting you take all the blame for this, Prince. Giving Zory the Tier was probably the singularly -most- stupid thing I did all afternoon; I could have gotten it back to Neff, or held onto it, or something. Anything would have been more effective than that. I can live through a broken shoulder, but Zory is about as as capable of protecting himself as a teacup poodle."  
  
Mamoru continued to pull viciously on the grass under his fingers. "I've heard poodles can be extremely vicious, you know."  
  
Malachi bit back a frustrated growl - but just barely. "I'm making a -point-, Prince; one that you seem to be intent on ignoring. We made just as many mistakes as you did. None of them involved doing you physical harm, admittedly, but we weren't exactly well-coordinated. That was my fault. I wasn't thinking. If I'd just taken the time for a plan of action, instead of the first thought that came to my mind - 'protect the Prince at all costs and worry about everything else later' - I could have saved everyone a -lot- of unecessary pain. Including you."  
  
He slid his hand through his silver hair, resisting the urge to sigh. This was not going at all how he had intended, and talking about all of his own failures certainly was not helping his own mood at all.   
  
Mamoru stared hard at the ground in front of him. He spoke slowly, as though carefully choosing his words, his voice sounding a little thick. "That's different, though. Those are all just mistakes. Mistakes happen all the time in battles, Malachi. There's no avoiding that. But this wasn't just some accident or misjudgement. I intentionally hurt and nearly killed all of you. Sure, you threw Zory the Tier. But I was the one who beat him into a bloody pulp because of it."   
  
The patch of ground in front of Mamoru was quickly growing bare as he continued to rip at the grass, not caring whether he pulled the tiny blades up by the roots. "And I know what you're going to say, that it was all because of Lunette and because I used my head to put a dent in a brick wall. But I... can't help but wonder if some part of that really was me. If I really would be willing to hurt or even kill all of you for... for -her- sake. I love Usako with all my heart, but... I don't want to think about what I would be willing to do for that love. I guess some people would find it romantic. But as much as I love her, I love you guys too, Malachi. I don't ever want to choose one or the other. I'm selfish like that. I want all of you. But it scares me to think of how easily I would have abandoned you."  
  
"Well, if we're lucky, you won't ever -have- to choose," Malachi said quietly. He shifted his position on the grass, folding his hands in his lap. "But there's something you have to take into consideration. We were hurting someone who, for all you knew, was your Usako. Am I correct in assuming that, no matter -who- it is, if they were hurting the Princess, you'd take them out faster than you could say 'Tuxedo Mirage?'"  
  
"Well, yes, but--"  
  
"'But' nothing. You have a protective streak a mile long, Prince. In your mind, Usako was getting hurt, and it didn't matter who was causing it. Had you been in complete control of your facilities, I'm sure you -still- would have punched first, asked second. It probably wouldn't have involved blasting me into the air and breaking my shoulder, you're right. But your concussion made the situation worse. You'll fight for your Princess, and you'll kill for your Princess. And that's just the kind of loyalty she deserves. But you -won't- kill your -friends- for your Princess, this I know. Not unless you're not in control of yourself, or...-they- aren't."  
  
Malachi tried to push the memory away, keep himself focused in the moment, but it was hard. Bits and pieces flashed by, obscuring Mamoru and the soccer field with images of crumbling palaces, tattered corpses, white light exploding from everywhere at once...  
  
//You took us down, Prince. All of us. You knew if you didn't, we'd do it first, and you were right. Our mission was to destroy the Moon Kingdom, and take you with it. And you stood your ground. You'd never been that angry, before or since. But the look on your face, as you sliced us to pieces with your father's sword, took us apart on that immaculate marble...I won't ever forget it. And I won't ever let it happen again.//  
  
"You wouldn't do that, Prince. Trust me." Now Malachi's attention was focused in his lap, watching his hands as they began to shake. //Not now, not -now-, dammit. Comfort him first, then have your breakdown.//  
  
It was easier said than done. As much as he tried to push the memories away, tried to lock them back up in that corner of his mind where he kept everything that was attempting to drive him insane, they just kept on pushing back into the surface of his mind, bringing with them several equally horrifying images, bound together by neither time nor space, but only by the feelings of grief that accompanied them. Millions of horrified screams resounding as a ballroom collapses upon the party guests. Zoisite's pained yelp as his own knuckles crack across the blonde's face. A horrible, fanged mouth as it leans in for a kiss. His prince pinned against a wall, Malachi's fingers around his throat, crushing his windpipe, strangling him with only one hand, watching with a mixture of his past self's amusement and his present self's disgust and self-loathing as his prince's face goes from red to purple.  
  
And suddenly it was not Endymion who was struggling in his grasp but Neff, and he could not remember which event it was that he was seeing--the one from thousands of years ago, or the one from twenty minutes ago--or who it was that he was really trying to kill.  
  
"Malachi?!" Mamoru's voice sounded, alarmed, when the white-haired man reflexively grabbed at his head with his good hand. That same blinding headache was threatening to come back; the one which had decided to take over when his memories had first returned.   
  
"I'm okay, Prince," Malachi muttered, sounding completely unconvincing through his gritted teeth.  
  
"The point is, you're willing to go great lengths to protect the people you love. Not many people can say that. The problem is, your ability to be entirely unselfish and to take great risks is just as dangerous as it is admirable." The silver-haired man focused intently on Mamoru's shoe - it was within his line of sight, and it was something simple he could concentrate on without passing out. Or trying to kill someone. "It's a trait that's easy to manipulate. Not like I have to tell you, after today. It's something you have to be careful of. This probably won't be the last time someone - clones included - tries to take advantage of you, make you a weapon against yourself. You have to--"  
  
//fireburnpainexplosionsfiredeathburning//  
  
Malachi cried out in pain, made all the worse when he instinctively tried to move his immobile arm to clutch his head. He closed his eyes, hoping it would keep the memories at bay, but to no success. The fall of the Moon Kingdom seemed to be everywhere around him, and -in- him. It was almost more than his body could stand, his brain desperately trying to reject the images that continued to pound him, like waves on a beach during the most violent of hurricanes. Buildings toppled, engulfed in orange and white and blue flames. People screamed as they were trapped in the burning wreackage, as they were attacked by armies of youma, struck down and killed, animals for the slaugther. He stood above it all, laughing, laughing at the civilazation burning around his ankles...  
  
"Malachi!" Mamoru grabbed his friend's wrist, trying, in some way, to pull him away from whatever was hurting him.   
  
//What's going on? What's wrong with him? I can feel his pain, but I can't get any closer than that! He keeps pushing me back! Dammit, what's going on?!//  
  
The white-haired man merely continued to hold his head, his breathing labored and constricted, as his mind made every effort to block out the horrible images that refused to give in. They pounded against his mind, keeping in time with the throbbing pain that felt as though it would soon split his head in two.   
  
Neff's words from earlier that day returned to Mamoru, and suddenly he understood what was happening. //"The memories nealy killed him earlier, while you were still recovering." Oh, God, Malachi, how could you have been hiding so much pain from me all this time? While I've been selfishly thinking of myself, you were the one who was suffering.// "Malachi! Please, answer me!"  
  
Malachi could not hear Mamoru anymore, could not feel his hand on his wrist. He was immersed in his memories, was drowning in them. There was no more past or present to him. Everything was real, everything was happening -right now-, and no matter how many times the same events recurred over and over, he still felt the raw pain of it as keenly as if it were the first time, only with twice the dread, because he always knew what would happen next, and always was just as incapable of stopping it.  
  
"Something's wrong." This may have been the understatement of the year, but as Zory was all the way across the field, he wasn't entirely sure what was going on. Malachi was definitely in pain, that he knew. Mamoru looked on the verge of a panic attack - of course, that was nothing new. But it was the combination thereof that was making him jumpy.  
  
"You going to intervene?" Jed asked, shifting from foot to foot as though there was a small furry animal in his pants. He was anxious, and when Jed got anxious, he was as opaque as a window. But he was no good when it came to consoling people - the events in Malachi's room were proof of that - and that made him -more- anxious. What was taking Zory so long, anyway? Normally, at the first sign of discomfort, he dropped everything and started making It's Going To Be Okay cooing noises.  
  
Zory sighed, pounding a small fist on his hip in frustration. "I -want- to, but..."  
  
"'But?'"  
  
"I don't -know-," Zory snapped, and then sighed again. "Sorry. I'm PMSing, I know. It's just...Mamoru didn't see what happened earlier, when he passed out in the bathroom. He needs to know how much this is hurting Malachi, needs to know that even if he can't do anything to fix it, he can just be there -physically-. But right now, being their physically won't do Malachi any good. And Mamoru, bless him, is not equipped for this kind of burden right now."  
  
The blonde sighed, irritatedly flicking his hair out of his face. What he would not give for a hair tie right now. "Besides, I don't think there's much we -can- do. So far, every time this has hit Malachi all we've been able to do to help him was talk him through it. It seems to help, but I don't know whether it would be worth intruding on them just to do that. Mamoru should be able to handle that, I think." After a moment, he added, "I hope."  
  
"Yeah, but they're both in pretty bad shape, Zory. You know it's bad when even I can sense it."  
  
"I know, I know." He banged on the hood of the car out of frustration. It already had so many dents that Zory was hardly concerned about adding to them. "Maybe we should just wait a bit longer. If Malachi gets any worse..." he trailed off. At this point, "any worse" would likely force the white-haired man to lose consciousness, which, after his little bathroom fiasco yesterday, would -not- be a good thing. Maybe he had better intervene, after all. There would be plenty of other opportunities for those two to talk it over, wouldn't there?   
  
"Zory," Neff croaked from inside the car. The blonde leaned down to peek through the open window. "Just let them be, alright? They need to do this."  
  
"You sure about that?" Jed raised an eyebrow at the brunette.  
  
"I know my track record isn't exactly impeccable today, but just trust me on this, alright?"  
  
"Malachi! Please, say something!" By this time, Mamoru was feeling desperate, and more than slightly panicked. He was on his knees now, one hand firmly placed on Malachi's good shoulder, and the other on his hip (as it would have been incredibly unwise to put any pressure on his already strained limb). His head was ducked, trying to get a good view of his guardian's face, but he couldn't see for all the silver hair blocking the way.  
  
For awhile, he tried shaking Malachi, calling his name and asking him to respond. But there was no response, save the occasional terrified whimper. Then, something occured to the prince, appearing like a flash of divine inspiration. Malachi wasn't responding because -Malachi- wasn't there. Well, it was Malachi's body, but mentally, he had probably retreated into some far corner of his mind, away from whatever memory was scaring him.  
  
He had a pretty good idea what memory it was, too.  
  
"Kunzite?" Mamoru tried softly, gently shaking Malachi's shoulder. "Can you hear me?"  
  
"Prince, please..." The voice was not more than a murmur, but somehow Mamoru managed to pick it up. It was pleading, helpless, thousands of years of terror and desperation packed densely into one whisper. "Please, make it stop..."  
  
Never in his life--or, he was certain, in any life--had Mamoru heard his guardian talk that way. Never had he heard his voice thick with such fear, such despair. Kunzite had lived on his nightstand for two full years, and had not made the slightest hint as to how deeply haunted he was by his past. Now when Mamoru heard him, heard the absolute misery in his voice, he realized that this was not just Malachi struggling with his newfound memories or Kunzite struggling with his more recent past, but centuries of abjection and self-loathing welling up within the mind of a man who was not equipped to handle it. Kunzite had never once stopped hating what he had done thousands of years ago, had never once stopped being tortured by the memory of it, because Kunzite did not forget. He could not forget. His pain would not be dulled, his wounds would not heal over, because no matter how many millenia he existed, every one of the most terrifying and horrible moments in his life would remain as clear in his memory as they were the very first time.  
  
//"For Malachi, that would be a fate worse than death. He would be in tremendous agony, Prince. To kill him at that point would be an act of mercy."//  
  
"It's okay, Kunzite," he whispered thickly. "I'll help you." He slid a hand beneath the curtain of silver hair, trying to bring some sense of comfort by touching his guardian's face, but he did not like the way the muscles beneath his skin were drawn up tight, or the way his jaw was set so hard that touching it was like touching concrete. And he did not like that his cheek felt damp.  
  
"I'll help you," Mamoru whispered again, though he had no idea what to do. But calling upon Kunzite seemed to have been the right move, because now when he put his hands on his head Shitennou, he could no longer feel that wall of resistance that had been intently pushing him away. Kunzite needed his prince to be there, needed his help. He did not want to push Mamoru away anymore, because try as he might, he could not make his new, human mind adjust to the immense burden that he had placed upon it.  
  
No longer being pushed back, the black-haired man could not only feel Malachi's - Kunzite's - pain, but could feel exactly where and how it was hurting him. And if there was one thing Mamoru knew how to do, it was heal pain.  
  
Jed's head snapped up, and he turned to stare straight at the two shadowed figures across the field. He did not see any golden glow, as he had expected, but that hardly mattered. He could feel it, just the same. "Aw, shit," he muttered, taking a step towards the pair.  
  
"Jed," Neff wheezed as loud as his injured voice would allow him. "Just stay here."  
  
"Neff, he's--"  
  
"I know."  
  
"He's in no shape to be healing anyone. He's going to hurt himself, and you want me to just stand here and watch?" The brunette nodded, watching the steering wheel contemplatively. "And why the hell would you want that?"  
  
"Because Malachi needs this, alright? They both need this. Besides, at this point I think it's the only thing that'll do any good."  
  
Mamoru circled an arm around his guardian's waist, holding it just below his sling, so as not to hurt the injured shoulder. The other snaked up beneath Malachi's good arm, his hand resting upon the white-haired man's chest. He was kneeling behind Malachi, if only for the purpose of keeping him propped up in the event that he lost consciousness altogether, which was a very real possibility at the moment. Kunzite did not seem aware of any of this, or if he was, it made little difference. His muscles remained as rigid as ever, his breathing just as constricted. He was so stiff that it seemed like he might snap.   
  
"Kunzite?" The black-haired man whispered, close to his friend's ear.  
  
"Prince..." the leader of the Shitennou muttered between struggled breaths, "please... I can't..."  
  
"Shh, I know. Just hold on for a bit longer, Kunzite. I'll make this better." Even as he spoke, he could feel an unseen light passing from his hands into his guardian. He closed his eyes, burrowing his face in a silky nest of silver hair.   
  
//If I had only known...I should have. I should have known how badly this would hurt him. Kunzite had no concept of a physical body for more than two years, and a stone doesn't have limits for emotional stress. I should have helped him with this sooner. I should have been there for him! Dammit, how did I let this happen?!//  
  
At first, Kunzite couldn't sense any change at all. The memory kept pounding, twisting like a serpent and lunging for him, utterly defenseless. When he felt the warm burst in his chest, he thought he might have stopped breathing, and it was his lungs' ache for oxygen. But no, it was something different. It wasn't so much like fire as it was...well, there wasn't really a word for it. It was warm, like a fire, but it wasn't burning anything. The visions of destruction and devastation began to fade, a hazy golden veil thrown over it.  
  
Golden. But that meant...  
  
//He can't! He's not strong enough yet!//  
  
//Oh, I can, and I -will-, thank you very much.// This was followed by an awkward, startled pause. And then, //...Did I just do what I think I just did?//  
  
//Prince, are you... in my head?//  
  
//Well, I guess that answers my question. But I'll worry about it later.//  
  
The visions began to slow down, burning buildings and explosions fading away into the golden mist that seemed to cover everything. As though someone had lifted an anvil out of his chest, he took a deep breath, and was relieved to find that he could do so without choking.  
  
"What did he -do-?" Zory's eyes could not have possibly been any bigger. If he were any more shocked, they could have fallen out of their sockets altogether. "It's...it feels like they're the same person! I can't tell where Mamoru ends and Malachi begins!"  
  
"It's giving me the goddamn wiggies, that's for sure," Jed groused, watching in a sort of frightened awe. "Whatever it is, I don't want to know how he did it. Just so long as it works, and it doesn't royally fuck them -both- over in the head. No pun intended."  
  
"Jed, with all respect to the both of them, they've been royally fucked over in the head from the start. And after this gigantic mess, it couldn't possibly get any worse."  
  
"Well, you know how I hate it when people say that, but for once, I'll have to agree." Zory knotted his small fingers in his ponytail, twisting it around until it almost looked like it could snap off. "But -damn-, that's creepy."  
  
//Prince, you can't be doing this. Do you have any idea how dangerous this is?//  
  
//Oh, I'm sure I'm taking all sorts of horrible risks right now, but it's too late to stop me. Besides, you were the one who asked for help.//  
  
//I didn't...// Kunzite was not sure exactly -what- he had been hoping for when he begged his prince to make his memories stop torturing him, but he was almost certain that this was not what he had had in mind. He tried to move away from his prince, to sever the mental connection that held them together, but try as he might, he could not make his body obey. The golden mist seemed to hold him paralyzed.  
  
//Stop struggling. You're making this more difficult, and you don't want to make me strain myself right now, do you?//  
  
//You've done what you intended to do, Prince. Now get out of my head before you do yourself serious damage.//  
  
//I'm not going anywhere until I fix this. The fog is only temporary, to keep you calm while I work. Guess we could say it's like a mental anesthetic. Sort of. Anyway, I'll need a little more time.//  
  
//Time? What exactly are you doing?//  
  
//I'm... well, I'm not sure how to describe it, exactly. I don't think my knowledge of the English language is extensive enough to explain it properly.//  
  
//Prince, I am fluent in five languages and partially fluent in at least nine. Pick one and tell me what the hell you're doing to my brain.//  
  
//Nine? Really?//  
  
//Prince!//  
  
//Alright, alright.// Mamoru switched over to his native Japanese. It was easier to work while he was thinking in his mother tongue, anyway. //You could call it healing, but it's not quite like that. In simple terms, your brain is physically unable to handle all the information you've been trying to cram into it, especially since most of that so-called information is extremely traumatic and would have probably sent the average person to the nearest psych ward. So I'm making a few... adjustments, you might say. Giving your mind the tools it needs to deal with the incredible amount of stress it's under. Does that make any sense?//  
  
//I guess so,// Kunzite replied grudgingly, though he would much rather deal with his own mental problems, thank you very much.  
  
//Kunzite, I should tell you that this won't cure you. I can't ever take away the pain that these memories put you through; not without taking away the memories themselves. I can ease it a little, and I can make sure this sort of breakdown won't happen again, but I can't ever heal it completely. That's the sort of thing that only you could do.//  
  
//In other words, you'd like nothing more than to make those memories go away, but doing so would probably kill you, or at minimum, leave you comatose.//  
  
//You know, just because I'm rooting around in -your- head doesn't mean you have to root around in mine.//  
  
//I have to do -something- to keep myself from going apenuts, don't I?//  
  
//..."Apenuts?"//  
  
//Sorry. I think Malachi may have picked it up from Jed.//  
  
//Speaking of him. Malachi, that is, not Jed.// Mamoru paused for a moment, muttered something strange about synapses, and then remembered he was supposed to be talking. //Is he okay? I don't know what happened between the time I was talking to him and when you...uh...'took over.'//  
  
//Well, I -could- tell you, if you hadn't thrown me into the mental equivalent of a windowless closet.// Kunzite could almost -feel- Mamoru wince, and he cursed under his breath (in a manner of speaking). What right did he have to be cranky at a time like this? //I'm sorry, Prince. I know I sound ungrateful, and I shouldn't be. If you hadn't stepped in--//  
  
//I would have stepped in. I wouldn't have let it keep hurting you. I would have found a way.//  
  
//Well, thank you for that. I'm sorry you had to put yourself in such a potentially dangerous position for my sake. If I had just worked this out myself--//  
  
//Kunzite, you couldn't have possibly worked this out yourself, so don't go adding that to your guilt list. Besides, if you're willing to do... what you almost did for me today, the least I can do is take away some of the pain it caused. Speaking of that...//  
  
//Oh, don't go bothering with him, please. If removing my memories could kill you, I'm pretty sure that messing with the lurker in my head would drive you insane and -then- kill you.//  
  
//Yeah, I'm realizing that. Being that I don't want to send us -both- into a comatose state, I think it would be best not to touch that part of your brain just now. I don't at all like the idea of you having that evil creature inside you, though. I wish there was something I could do about it.//  
  
//Hey, as much as I despise him, he is a part of me, and he is my responsibility. Most of the time I can keep him under control, anyway. Though admittedly, I have been losing control a few too many times lately.//  
  
//That's not your fault. It's all this memory stuff, and-- oops.//  
  
//Oops? That's really not a word I'd like to hear while you're digging around in my head.//  
  
//Oh, it's... nothing. You didn't need that anyway.//  
  
//...Why does that not reassure me?//  
  
//Look at it this way. What's your name?//  
  
//What?//  
  
//Just go with it.//  
  
//...Kunzite.//  
  
//What's -my- name?//  
  
//Which one?//  
  
//See? You're fine.//  
  
//Again, not reassured.//  
  
//Well, my apologies, then. But fortunately for you, I'm almost done.// And fortunately for Mamoru, too, although he didn't dare think it, lest it get broadcast loud and clear across their collective brain. He hadn't quite been sure what he intended to do when he'd linked them in the first place, and as everyone had predicted, it was exhausting. But he refused to let on. And he refused to let on exactly how worried he was about pulling out. If he -could- pull out.  
  
//Hey, look who I found!//  
  
//Malachi?//  
  
//Well, yeah. Don't tell me you have anyone -else- living in this incredibly huge brain of yours.//  
  
//I hope not, but you never can be sure. Let me know if you find any.//  
  
//I really hope you're joking.// There was a moment's pause, while Mamoru muttered something in English, probably trying to reassure Kunzite's other half.   
  
It was odd thinking of himself as two people, Kunzite had to admit. While he and Malachi were essentially the same person, and were identical in so many ways that it was nearly impossible to tell where one ended and the other began, they were distinct in other ways. Malachi, it seemed, was the most human of the pair. He was far more warm-hearted than Kunzite had ever been, and was much less inclined to act cold and aloof, at least around his friends. (While Kunzite had always been especially close to his Prince, he was pretty darn sure that he had never tackled him off of a bed. At least not when they were over the age of, say, twelve.) Half the time this made Kunzite just plain uncomfortable, and he much preferred to check out for a while when Malachi decided to get all mushy on him. Even so, while he would never admit it out loud, he felt rather... grateful for what Malachi's gentler side had been doing for their prince. He had not seen Mamoru so relaxed around anyone, save the Princess.  
  
Of course, the trade-off was that Malachi was the weaker of the two, and both were very much aware of that fact. He was a tough guy, this Kunzite knew, but he lacked the cold-hearted, razor-sharp attitude that Kunzite had become accustomed to. It was easy to forget sometimes that Malachi was still young, that he did not know what it was to be a cold-blooded killer. Kunzite sort of liked that about his mortal half. He liked his innocence.  
  
//Is he okay?// Kunzite did not like how long this was taking. He was growing more and more concerned about Mamoru's safety.  
  
//He's... well, a little distraught. And not entirely conscious.//  
  
//I'll take care of him. You need to hurry up and finish.// Kunzite felt the familiar bump of his other half on the edge of his consciousness, as Mamoru deposited him in what they had dubbed the "windowless closet." "Distraught" was not a strong enough word for the state that Malachi was in right now. He was exhausted and confused and carrying with him a whole mess of emotions that immediately decided to entangle them both, like wicked, thorny vines.   
  
//I think I'm done. Just one more...// A pause, and then a soft grunt. //There. That's the last of it.//  
  
//'It?'//  
  
//I don't really think you want to know.//  
  
//You're probably right. Now, Prince, as much as I've loved this more than intimate time together, would you mind getting out of my brain?//  
  
There was a pause, and Kunzite saw the golden mist dissipate. It took the remains of the memory with it, and though he could still sense it somewhere, it felt like it was tucked away, not immediately accesible.  
  
//It's the spiritual equivalent of a file cabinet,// Mamoru spoke up. //Try not to go picking around in there for awhile. They're locked in there pretty good, but only from me. You could get them out far more easily.//  
  
//Which I most definitely don't want. Understood. Now, about vacating my head?//  
  
//I'm working on it, Kunzite. It's not like I can just pick up my toolbag and hop out. If I did that, I'd probably take half your brain with me. Which would lead to quick, excruciating deaths for the both of us.//  
  
//...Well, in that case, feel free to take your time.//  
  
//Thank you.// Then, Mamoru cleared his 'throat.' //...Uh oh.//  
  
//You're going to force me to parrot back important phrases, aren't you? -What- 'uh oh?'//  
  
//I think... I may be stuck.//  
  
//...By 'stuck,' you mean...//  
  
//Yeah. Stuck.//  
  
//Stay where you are. I'm coming to get you.// He left Malachi where he was--he would recover soon, once he calmed down a bit and got some rest--and proceeded to wade through the thick snarl of emotions that his other half had tangled him in. Once he had escaped their strangling grasp, he was by Mamoru's "side" in less than a second.  
  
"Stuck" was a pretty good word for it. Their minds had sort of tangled around one another, intertwining into a tremendous mental knot that continued to grow larger and more confused by the second. Mamoru was frantically trying to free himself, but the more intently he worked, the faster their minds grew together, so that any attempt to pull them apart without destroying both would soon be next to impossible. //...Oh.//   
  
//Yeah, 'oh.' That's about all I can say about it, too. Do you and Malachi have this problem?//  
  
//Well, yeah, but we're sort of -supposed- to be tied together. And it shouldn't be knotting up that way.//  
  
//I don't care if it's supposed to be dancing the Macarena! Do something!//  
  
//Prince, calm down. Panicking will only make it worse. And stay still.// He watched as the mental tendrils slowed to an only slightly more manageable state, sort of oozing around one another.   
  
"I can't stand it anymore!" Zory shrieked, suddenly lunging toward the other end of the field and breaking into a run. "If this goes on any longer, they'll never be able to fix it!"  
  
"Fix -what-? Zory!" Jed threw his hands up, taking off after the smaller blonde. "Zory, don't do anything stupid!"  
  
Despite his lungs aching every time he took a stride, Jed managed to cross the field in a manner of seconds. When Zory came to an abrupt halt in front of the clinging pair, Jed had no time to stop. He plowed rudely into the smaller blonde's back and, fortunately for the both of them, fell backwards instead of forwards. He hit the ground with an indignant "oof!"  
  
"Zory, the fuck was that for?"  
  
"Oh God..."  
  
"Zory? What's--oh shit." Jed had gotten to his feet, brushing halfheartedly at the grass stains on his butt. What he saw when he came around to Zory's side was more sobering than a cold shower after a Friday night party.  
  
Neither Mamoru nor Malachi had changed position since the prince had started his healing process; Mamoru was still wrapped around Malachi, trying to keep him upright, arms around him as though he were comforting a small child. Both sets of eyes were closed, and their faces looked as though they had just simply fallen asleep, smiling pleasantly.  
  
But that was where the pleasantries ended, and end abruptly they did. In simple terms, they'd begun to melt together. Everywhere their bodies touched, they had fused together, becoming a giant mass of cloth and skin. Mamoru's fingers, still spread across his friend's chest, had practically melted altogether, becoming a flesh-colored, throbbing mass right over his heart. And the process wasn't stopping. Every few seconds, their "body" would shudder, ripple a bit, and then ooze closer.   
  
"What...what did they -do-?" Jed asked, swallowing a scream with no small amount of effort.  
  
"I don't -know-." Zory fell to his knees, and desperately tried to pry them apart. His efforts were unsuccessful, and when the mass of flesh tried to suck his hand in, he screeched and frantically pulled it back.  
  
"...I think I'm going to be sick."  
  
That croaking voice could only belong to one person. Jed turned to Neff, who, by the sound of his wheezing, had sprinted across the field no less than ten secnods ago.  
  
//Prince?//  
  
//Yeah?//  
  
//I hate to say this, but I think we have another problem.//  
  
//...What?//  
  
//Your hand has melted into my chest.//  
  
//My hand WHAT?!//  
  
//Ow!// Kunzite 'winced.' //Not so loud, please.//  
  
//Sorry.// Mamoru didn't sound particularly sorry. //What do you mean, my hand melted into your chest?//  
  
//I mean exactly what I said. And that's not the only part of you that's melted. Prince, if we don't figure this out soon, we're essentially going to collapse into each other. Either we die, or we'll be looking for sideshow careers.//  
  
//I don't think I quite follow what you're getting at, and I really really don't think I want to. What do we do now?//  
  
//Alright, just calm down. I think I have an idea.// Suddenly an incredible calm washed over Mamoru, so intensely that he had to fight to keep his fatigue from overwhelming him and knocking him out cold. Through his sudden exhaustion, it took him a few moments to realize that this was Kunzite's doing.  
  
//Kunzite? What...// Mamoru fought to stay awake, his thoughts becoming disjointed. The knot he had been trying to struggle out of was beginning to feel very distant from himself.  
  
//I can't get you out of here while you're fully conscious, Prince. It'll only be for a few minutes.// Even as he 'spoke,' the snakelike tendrils that belonged to Mamoru's consciousness began to backtrack, retreating into themselves.   
  
//But...// The last thing Mamoru wanted to do right now was sleep. Somewhere in the corner of his fatigued mind, he wondered whether he would ever wake up again.  
  
//Just trust me, Prince. I'll get you out of here.// As Mamoru slowly slipped into a light sleep, the vines of his mind delicately unwound themselves from Kunzite's. Kunzite's mind, of course, was still intent on enclosing Mamoru's, as though planning to devour it completely, and only when he was certain that Mamoru was mentally sedated did he focus every ounce of his strength on holding it back.  
  
"Look!" Zory gasped, watching Mamoru's hand. It seemed to be slowly, gradually returning to its normal shape.   
  
As though in slow motion, the skin around his hand pulled back to the bone, and once it was severed from Malachi's chest completely, it fell into his lap like a rag doll. Once the process started, it began to pick up speed. The rest of Mamoru's body began to pull away from Malachi's, his flesh making hideous slurping sounds as it met open air and then came back to its rightful shape.   
  
Kunzite opened one of Malachi's eyes hesitantly, looking around at three grim, green-tinged faces. "Don't worry. I'm fixing it."  
  
"You know, leave it to Mamoru to need saving from his own help," Neff muttered sourly, finally having to look away as Mamoru's other arm oozed like melted butter and flopped to his side, solidified. "This is -gross-. He is never, ever doing this again."  
  
"You can say that again." Kunzite closed his eye again and sighed. Like vines clamoring for sunlight, strands of Mamoru's mind shrunk away from his own. He 'flexed' his own mind, feeling around for tendrils, and was incredibly relieved when only a few remained. Finally, with only a little snag, the last one pulled away, and all traces of Mamoru's consciousness disappeared from his own. With a satisfying "THUNK," the wall between them came back down. Now all Kunzite could sense was that Mamoru was snoring lightly, something he was sure Malachi would tease him about later.  
  
//Well, now that I've averted one more death experience today...// He began to rummage around, shifting his focus to the 'closet' where Malachi's consciousness was still hiding. When Kunzite gently tried to pull, he whimpered desperately and pulled back in, shutting the 'door' behind him.   
  
//Okay. Looks like I'm flying solo for now.//  
  
The three remaining frat boys let out a tremendous breath when the last of Mamoru's flesh returned to his body, and he fell face first into the grass, gently sleeping. Feeling it was probably safe to come out, Kunzite opened his eyes, and tried to flex his arms. He cursed sharply under his breath when he remembered that oh, yes, one of his shoulders was broken.  
  
"You okay, Malachi?" Jed was the first to speak, mostly because he was the only one who didn't look like they were about to vomit on themselves.  
  
"Malachi's taking a little...nap right now," Kunzite said, trying to be diplomatic. "He'll come back once he stops shivering."  
  
"So then, if it's not Malachi I'm talking to...Don't tell me you're the Queen of England."  
  
"No, you'll have to settle for Kunzite."  
  
Jed felt a tingle of relief up and down his spine. "I can live with that."  
  
Kunzite glanced up at Zory, who was still kneeling directly in front of him, looking exceptionally green. After a minor epic struggle between the blonde and the urge to gag, he finally choked, "that... was the most disgusting thing I have ever seen in my life. I will be haunted by that image for the rest of my days. I will have nightmares for the next month." He stared wide-eyed at Malachi's chest, as though half expecting it to start oozing towards him.  
  
Kunzite was tempted to mention how much worse it was experiencing such a thing, but decided to keep his mouth shut at the moment.  
  
"Is... he alright?" Neff bent over Mamoru, who actually seemed to be snoring quite pleasantly into the grass.  
  
"He should be." The white-haired man reached out to take Mamoru's wrist, feeling his pulse. "I may have gone a little overboard in putting him to sleep."  
  
"What exactly happened just now?" Jed eyed both Malachi and Mamoru carefully, just to make sure they were not going to dissolve into liquid form any time soon.  
  
"Trust me when I say that you really don't want to know."  
  
"While I'm sure that I'll definitely regret saying this later, I think I really do want to know." Zory was speaking awfully boldly for someone who looked like he might puke, or faint, or both. "What I'd really like to know is how the two of you got into such a compromising position in the first place." He shot a glare up at Neff. "'Stay here,' you said. 'It couldn't get any worse,' you said. They almost fucking died! Again!"  
  
"Zory..." He did not need Neff to be taking the rap for this. He had been getting the brunt end of the deal far too many times today.  
  
"What, Kunzite? Tell me what happened! You knew how dangerous this could be! You should have known better than to let him do something so stupid!"  
  
"I couldn't tell what he was doing!" Kunzite snapped, glaring sharply at Zory, who had no intention of backing down. "He basically threw a towel over my head and shuffled me away while he played neurosurgeon with the Golden Crystal! By the time I -knew- what he was doing, I couldn't stop him. No, that's a lie - I could have just pushed him out of my head. And then he would have been a drooling vegetable for the rest of his life! Somehow, that didn't seem like an option!"  
  
Zory fumed silently for a moment, his head of steam lost. But his anger most certainly wasn't. He really wanted to be angry at Mamoru, but he was just sleeping away, obliviou to the fact that he really felt like tossing his cookies all over the grass.   
  
He pounded his fists in the grass, for lack of anything constructive to vocalize. He was sick of this. He was sick of nearly losing his prince, again and again. That was, what, the third time today? And if he wasn't getting kicked around by clones, he was crying his eyes out, or running away, or all sorts of terribly unintelligent things.  
  
And Malachi! Malachi was entirely incapable of functioning now, which terrified him. Malachi was always in control. He was always cool-headed, always in control of himself. But no longer. Now, the slightest thing could possibly set him off. What would happen when they met the guy (or girl, or formless entity) in charge of this mess? If they pushed the right button, he'd snap. It was that simple.  
  
In other words, the rug had been pulled out from under Zory, and he was not happy. So he did the only thing that seemed appropriate.  
  
He started to cry.  
  
"Dammit," he whispered. Then again, much louder. "Dammit! Dammit, I hate this, I hate it! I hate fighting, and I hate death, and I hate all the shit we're being put through! And I hate that I can't stop it!"  
  
He scrubbed at his face, tears flowing unbashedly. Zory had never worried about crying in public, and he wouldn't start now. "Dammit, Malachi, I can't lose you."  
  
Kunzite immediately regretted snapping at him. He should have known better than to yell at Zory; especially over something like this. Now he -really- wished Malachi was awake, because he definitely was not equipped to deal with a crying Zory. "You're not going to lose him. He's fine. He's unconscious, but he's fine. What the Prince did was incredibly stupid, I'll agree with you there, but it seems that he -did- do some good. Those memories are under control now, and they'll -stay- under control, if I have anything to do with it."  
  
Both Jed and Neff looked like deer in the headlights. They were used to the blonde's occasional outbursts, but they normally depended on Malachi to handle it. Now that Malachi was not around, and his substitute was not leaping up to throw his arms--well, arm--around the green-eyed man, they were quite lost. And after their failed efforts at comforting Mamoru today, both were rather wary about making any attempts this time around, lest they make things worse. Neff occupied himself by watching Mamoru rather intently, while Jed just stared at the ground.  
  
"Well, forgive me if I'm not reassured!" Zory snapped, his voice cracking at least two octives as he warbled over tears. "You may think you have it under control, Kunzite, but let me tell you something. As long as those memories exist, Malachi won't be okay. You can try to protect him from your memories, but it won't help. Because they'll come back."  
  
He sobbed quietly, and then picked back up as though nothing had happened, tears still pouring. "You know he hurt Neff earlier? He got so angry, he was seconds away from choking him to death."  
  
Neff winced at the mention of it, trying to distract himself by picking loose grass out of Mamoru's hair.   
  
"And it's just going to trigger things," Zory continued, obviously losing his fervor. "He'll just keep thinking about it, again and again, and none of us can stop it. Mamoru tried, and we nearly lost both of you. And as much as I don't want to lose Malachi, Zoisite doesn't want to lose you. And it could happen. It could happen, and I'm so scared...of...of..."  
  
As hard as Zory had tried, he couldn't keep himself together. The dam broke, the walls came down, and Zory collapsed in on himself. He dug his hands deep in the grass, ripping through tufts of grass and rocking back and forth, sobbing desperately all the while.  
  
That was it. Malachi couldn't take it any more. He was still a nervous wreck, and he was probably safer in Mamoru's happy little golden tent, but he couldn't stand to hear Zory cry like that. He knew Kunzite was incapable of consoling him; that was most definitely not his strong suit. So he practically ripped Kunzite away from the front of his consciousness and scrambled forward on his knees. With his one arm, he swept Zory into a hug, pressing him close into his chest and rubbing his large hand up and down the boy's back.  
  
"Zory, it's okay," he cooed softly, holding him as close as a one-armed hug would allow. "It's okay now. Shh, Zory, it's okay. It's okay to be scared. But I'm here now. Zory, come on, it's okay..."  
  
"Malachi, I can't lose you!" Zory wailed, clinging to him as though he might slip out of his fingers at any moment. "But we can't help you - not even Mamoru can help you - and you're hurting so badly, and..."  
  
His words were lost in another round of frantic sobbing. Malachi hated being unable to make this all go away, like a monster hiding under a child's bed that you could scare away with flashlights and a few good hugs. This monster was real, and it was inside of him, and it would -always- be inside of him. And the worst part was: Zory was right. No one could help him.   
  
//'I can ease it a little, and I can make sure this sort of breakdown won't happen again, but I can't ever heal it completely. That's the sort of thing that only you could do.'//  
  
//That's right. No one can fix this but me.// Malachi shifted Zory's weight against him - not much, all things considered - and got them both in a more comfortable position. //I don't know how, but I'll keep this from happening again. If not for my sake, for Zory. And for Mamoru. I have to be strong for them, because they can't fight on their own. We were meant to be a team. Not just a team, but a team of five. I can't let these memories win. I can't!//  
  
----  
  
[1] That would be "mall" as in the Stanford Shopping Center. Yes, Stanford has its own shopping center. (Anne: God, I love my state.)  
  
Well, wasn't that fun, everybody? Stay tuned for the next installment, where people will cry, get hurt, angst a lot, and maybe even eat something!   
  
And yes, before you say it, we know you hate us. That's part of the fun, donchaknow.  
  
~Spirit-hime and AngelAnne 


	9. Chapter 8

Bleed (Just to Know You're Alive)  
  
Chapter 8  
  
anything between these slashes are thoughts   
  
-------  
  
"You got him?"  
  
"Yeah, he's fine."   
  
Neff carefully adjusted his sleeping prince on the back seat of the Oldsmobile, allowing his head to flop onto Jed's lap. It was amazing that a guy could sleep through so much--including being shaken, yelled at, carried across a field, dropped (twice), and shoved into a less-than-pleasant-smelling car. Through it all, the black-haired man continued to snore pleasantly, oblivious to what was happening around him.  
  
Jed watched his prince, who was now beginning to drool on his knee. "I don't know what you gave him, Malachi, but I'd sure like some. Can you start handing it out at parties?"  
  
The brunette snorted. "Hey, why bother with alcohol when you can pass out instantaneously? It would sure make for some easy crowd control." Neff backed out through the rear passenger door and stood leaning against the Shitmobile, trying to slow his wheezing breaths to a less painful level. Mamoru was lighter than he looked, but he was still pretty darn heavy--all six feet one inch of him. Normally, Neff would have no trouble hauling him across the field, but right now his less-than-healthy lungs and throat were making any sort of physical activity a painful experience.  
  
He felt a light bump on his shoulder. "Can I have a minute?"  
  
Malachi stood in the fading dusk, his silver hair dimly reflecting the last of the pinkish sunlight. Though his face was still creased with exhaustion and emotion, he was looking at Neff a lot more steadily than he had in the past hour, which was, the brunette noted, a vast improvement.  
  
He started to say something that sounded like "sure," but it disappeared into a round of hacking coughs, punctuated by the occasional wince. He finally managed to nod, not noticing the pained expression on Malachi's face. As soon as he regained some of his composure (and dignity), the two men shuffled off, leaving Jed with a Prince in his lap. Zory hovered over him like a hummingbird on speed, emotional outburst apparently forgotten.  
  
"Neff, I..." Malachi tried to look at the brunette as he talked, but every time he did, all he could see was the technicolor mess of bruises around his neck, mocking him, trying to make him squirm. He squashed the guilt before it could come bubbling up - not now. He had to try this "being strong" thing, and he had to do it now, or everything was going to Hell in a handbasket.  
  
"I'm sorry, Neff. I can't even tell you how sorry I am. I don't even know if there are words for it." Green eyes locked on brown ones, with an intensity so fierce that Neff had to try hard not to look away. "I was mad, too mad, a-and I felt that Kunzite sneaking up on me, and I didn't want him take control...But I almost did. He was right there, breathing down my neck. I couldn't stop him. I couldn't stop -myself-."  
  
"Malachi, it's okay. I mean, not what you did, I'm not really fond of that," Neff ammended, when it looked like Malachi intended to interrupt. "But I understand. You have a lot to deal with, and I did something monumentally stupid. It was all my idea, to tell Mamoru about...well, you know. Jed tried to stop me, but you know how I am. There's a reason -you're- the leader, let's put it that way."  
  
Malachi snorted. "Yeah, some leader I've made so far."  
  
"No, man, I'm serious." Neff brushed a few strands of stringy, sweaty hair from his face. He had another shower in his future, it seemed. "So you're having a hard time with that guy. I don't blame you. I'd have gone batshit by now. But you're winning, whether you know it or not. Kunzite - the good one, I mean - he's got a good head on his shoulders. Shit in the emotional department, but I shouldn't throw stones."  
  
He paused for a second, and then continued. "I mean it, though. Even before all this Prince-saving, clone-ass-kicking, almost-dying-every-six-hours thing, you were still the 'leader' of the group. Such as we were, I mean. Hell, you're the leader of the house, whether you know it or not. All those little squirrely pledges think you're God's Gift to Fraternities, man. Even if you don't get laid often enough. Maybe you should ask Mamoru if he--"  
  
"If you'll recall, Neff," Malachi interjected, trying hard to squash a smile, "the Prince has a fiancé. Who has ten Sailor Soldiers at her disposal. Who, I might add, are already het up enough with the possibility that he was cheating with another woman. So what happens if they find out he was cheating with a -man-?"  
  
Neff couldn't help it. He exploded into giggles - very manly giggles, he would maintain later. "Oh, I imagine there would be carnage and cussing and all varieties of chaos. Sounds kind of like a Friday night."  
  
"Well, usually there isn't much carnage. Unless Rock decides to jump off the roof."  
  
"Don't remind me. We're still paying that bill."  
  
The two men lapsed into a comfortable silence, both somewhat unsure of how to continue, or even if they wanted to.  
  
"Well," Malachi continued, brushing a bit of grass from his sling, "regardless of what you may think of my leadership capabilities, that doesn't make what happened today any better. Leader or not, I still screwed up beyond reason."  
  
"So you screwed up. Know what that tells me?"  
  
"That I'm a dumbass?"  
  
The brunette smirked. "That too, but we were already aware of that fact. It tells me that you're human. And I'll take Human Malachi over Inhuman Kunzite any day of the week, even on Thursday bar nights when you make me limit my alcohol intake. You're gonna screw up no matter what you do, Malachi, just like the rest of us. And probably less than me, if my track record for today is any indication."  
  
"I think we're pretty well tied, there."  
  
"Except that you get bonus points for getting the Prince in bed."  
  
The white-haired man could hardly help the burst of laughter that erupted in his throat. It was short-lived, but there nonetheless, and afterwards he felt as though a very miniscule weight had been lifted from his chest. It felt like it was the first time he had laughed in a very long time. His face dropped into his one good hand, only managing to obscure part of the redness that faintly tinted his cheeks. "I am never going to live that down, am I?"  
  
"Not while I'm around," the brunette declared proudly.  
  
"Just as long as you don't start posting it all over the frat house, I think I'm safe. At least you don't have incriminating photos."  
  
"Not yet, anyway."  
  
The last of the light faded, the dusk quickly turning to blackness. A nearby streetlight flickered to life, bathing the two men in an artificial orange glow. It was growing chilly out, and Malachi vaguely wished that he still had his jacket with him.  
  
After a few moments, all amusement had drained from the white-haired man's face. He gave his companion a sober look. "Neff, I want you to do something for me."  
  
The brunette lowered his hand from his bruised throat. He had been rubbing it subconsciously, and only now remembered that he was trying to avoid making his friend feel guilty. "What?"  
  
Malachi took a breath, not sure of how to continue, and not sure that he wanted to. After collecting his thoughts he finally said, "I don't know whether this will ever happen again. Mamoru did help, but... just like you said, I'm still human. And I can't guarantee that I'll be able to stop myself the next time around, either. I know you're a tough guy, Neff, but that could have just as easily been Jed or Zory, or even another frat brother. Hell, that could've been Mamoru."  
  
"You wouldn't hurt the Prince. That much I'm sure of."  
  
"Yeah? Yesterday I probably would've said the same thing about you. If you weren't as strong as you are, Neff, I could've snapped your neck like a twig before I even knew what was happening. And that's exactly what could happen to just about anyone else who might get stuck in the same position."  
  
Neff stayed silent, unsure of what to say. As much as both of them hated to admit it, it was true. Even before all this Shitennou, clones attacking nonsense, Malachi had been exceptionally strong. Now, with all the benefits of Kunzite's powers on top of that, he was a regular Superman, sans the spandex. If Neff did not have his own superhuman strength to back him up, he probably would have been dead within seconds.   
  
"Neff, if anything like this ever happens again, I want you to do whatever you need to do to stop me."  
  
The brunette was pretty sure his stomach dropped about three feet. "Oh man, Malachi, don't ask me to do that."  
  
The white-haired man fixed him with that steel gaze that could make many grown men cry. "Neff, someone has to protect them. -I- can't. Not from myself. Your job is to take out -every- threat to the Prince's safety, Neff, no matter who that threat may be. You're the only one who would be able to stop me; you and I both know that."   
  
Neff was not anxious to be saddled with this responsibility. "Jed could--"  
  
"No, he most certainly could -not,-" Malachi interrupted. "Physically, he may be as strong as you are. But he's never been good in situations under extreme duress. Remember when you practically sliced three of your fingers off, at the barbeque?"  
  
"I doubt the blood stains on the back stairs will ever let me forget. But that doesn't--"  
  
Malachi cut him off again. "Yes, it does. Zory immediately had your fingers wrapped in a dish towel, dialing 911 and trying to keep you from passing out from shock. You probably don't remember much of what happened next, as I imagine you were too busy worrying about your fingers."  
  
Neff didn't say anything, because he knew it would be interrupted. Malachi was just not in a mood to be wrong, apparently.  
  
"You've seen Zory worry, but that's nothing compared to Jed. At least Zory manages to stay coherent, even when he's bawling or pulling his hair out. Jed was talking a mile a minute, and I almost had to tie him to the deck to keep to keep him from floating off the deck. He was practically vibrating fear. A battle is one thing; you know who your enemies are there. But there was no bad guy there. And if it comes down to it, he won't be able to find one -here-, either."  
  
"Malachi, I know you're worried. We all are. But I know -you-, and Nephrite knows Kunzite, and on the list of things that you'd never do, that is one of them. Take us out, maybe. It's happened." Neff ignored the pained look on his friend's face. He had a point to make. "But between you and Kunzite, you would never let the Prince get hurt, and you would never hurt -him-. I know that."  
  
"No, you don't. And I don't, and he doesn't. No one knows that. Maybe I did, once. Before, Kunzite had him under control, when we - they - were trapped in those rocks. But that was different. I wasn't there. I wasn't a factor. When it was just the two of them..." Malachi sighed. He was starting to feel extremely depressed. It was just turning out to be one of those weeks, it seemed. He ran his hands through his hair, massaging his scalp as though all of the tension he was feeling had built up under his skin.  
  
"Promise me you'll do whatever you have to, Neff," he said, so quiet the plea was almost inaudible. "Please, promise me? I need to know...I need to know someone will stop me, if it happens. Zory would, but can't, and Jed could, but won't. I need to know that the Prince will be safe, no matter what."  
  
Neff sighed, staring up at the sky. Dark clouds hung ominously above them, dimly reflecting the city lights with a sort of unnatural glow. A few light drops of rain were beginning to splatter down.   
  
He meant what he said about Malachi hurting Mamoru. No matter how blind his fury made him, he knew that nothing could make his leader go after his Prince. But Malachi's tone made him feel even the tiniest shred of doubt, and that in itself was unnerving. Much as he believed it never would, what if something like that did happen? What if Malachi went over the edge, and got his hands on Mamoru? Then Neff would have to choose. He would have to decide between one or the other. Between someone who was more than a leader to him and far more than a friend, and someone who he had not only sworn to protect, but who he was beginning to love just as much as the other Shitennou. And as much as the thought pained him, he knew already what his choice would be. No matter what the stakes were, no matter who would get hurt in the process, he knew without question that his Prince would always come first. Protect the Prince at all costs. That would, now and forever, be his choice.  
  
He looked back down at Malachi, brushing bangs away from his brown eyes. "Alright. I'll do it. I'm not saying I agree with it, but I'll do it."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
"Yeah." Neff didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to think about being forced to do harm to Malachi. He knew that time would never come, even if Malachi didn't. But his plea had sowed doubts in Neff's mind. What if there -was- something that could cause him to attack the Prince, something he just couldn't imagine? Some memory that pushed him over the edge, some conversation or argument that loomed off in the distance?  
  
Three heavy raindrops landed on Neff's head with heavy, wet plops. Then three more, and then four or five at a time, and then the skies ripped open and rain came down from all sides.  
  
"C'mon, you two, your chariot awaits!" Zory called from the car, his head partially stuck out the driver's side window. "The last thing either of you need is a cold on top of everything else!"  
  
Jed snorted, a bit muffled, as his window was not open. "You heard Mama Zory, guys. Get in, before he wakes the Prince up."  
  
Neff shook the rain out of his hair like a dog, slowly lumbering his way back to the car. Rain or no rain, both men's physical injuries were making any sort of running an impossibility, and Neff much preferred getting a little wet over doing any more harm to his respiratory system.  
  
Zory was already perched behind the wheel, his seat pulled so far up that Neff probably would not have even fit if he had tried. "Who says you get to drive, blondie?"  
  
"Being that our Prince is passed out in the back, I think it better that someone who is not prone to road rage be situated behind the wheel," the green-eyed man replied diplomatically. "Besides, it's my turn, so there."  
  
"Hey, just because I have the inexplicable urge to choke bad drivers with their own cell phones and run them over until they are a bloody and mangled pulp on the asphalt does not mean I have road rage."  
  
Malachi shook his head, climbing awkwardly into the back seat. "Neff, would it really kill you to be a passenger for ten minutes?" With a sigh, the brunette moved around to the passenger side, grumbling something about obnoxious little blonde men.  
  
"I'm so glad you're here," Jed whimpered desperately as Malachi wrenched the door shut. "I think I've lost all feeling in my legs. Are you sure you didn't replace him with cement when you un-melted him?"  
  
"You're just a pansy, Jed." Neff got situated in the front seat, kicking aside a few empty Coke cans to do so.  
  
Malachi merely sighed as he helped Jed transfer the black-haired man onto his own lap. As he flopped onto the white-haired man's leg, Mamoru shifted and muttered something unintelligable, though Malachi was sure he heard the words "drywall" and "eggs."  
  
"So, what do we do when he wakes up?" Neff asked, as the Oldsmobile sputtered to life and Zory lurched the hunk of metal out into traffic.  
  
"I think we should just wait until he wakes up. Take it one step at a time." Malachi said, tone neutral. -If- he wakes up,his brain added morosely. I don't know why he -wouldn't-, but I'm not exactly having my best day for predictions.  
  
"Malachi..."  
  
The white-haired man looked down to his lap, where the Prince had begun to stir. At the same time, he gripped Malachi's well-worn jeans, as though he wasn't sure his perch was all that substantial.  
  
"I'm here, Prince." Malachi rubbed his free hand across his Prince's back.  
  
"Where's 'here?'" Mamoru muttered, sound strangled by his face's proximity to Malachi's legs.  
  
"The Shitmobile, Prince. We're going home."   
  
"Oh good. No one's gonna kill me when we get there, right?"  
  
"Nope. And even if there were, we'd kill them first."  
  
"Okay. 'M gonna go back 'sleep now."  
  
Jed chuckled softly, reaching over to pat Mamoru's shoulder. "You do that, Prince. We'll make sure no freaky short-skirted clone chicks try to have their way with you."  
  
If Mamoru was awake enough to hear him, he made no indication. Making good on his word, he was softly snoring within seconds, one hand still loosely gripping a fold of Malachi's jeans, as though it was the only thing keeping him grounded.  
  
Zory cast a mildly amused glance at Malachi through the rear-view mirror. "Well, at least he's getting some rest for once, right?"  
  
Malachi only nodded slightly, one hand distractedly stroking Mamoru's back. Not even Zory's suddenly lighter mood could put a dent in the cold numbness that wrapped around him like a cloak. This day had worn him out something awful, and it was more than a strain on him physically. His nerves were ragged, his mind fatigued, his body was one big ball of ache, and he could not even work up the energy to feel miserable anymore. He was beyond working on overdrive right now, and it was probably by sheer force of will that he was still sitting upright and conscious.  
  
Apparently, this fact was not lost on anyone else. While Zory was parking the car and Neff was showing one last display of manly strength by hauling Mamoru back to Malachi's room, the white-haired man was shaken out of his stupor by a hand on his arm.   
  
Jed pushed his hair out of his face, slicking it back with the rain. "C'mon, let's get you inside, huh? It's freezing out here."  
  
"I can take care of myself, Jed," Malachi muttered in protest, though he allowed himself to be led to the front door, anyway. Pride or no pride, there was no sense in standing around in the pouring rain.  
  
"Yeah, I'm sure you're a big boy and you can tie your own shoes and everything. But you look like a fucking zombie right now, and if you slip and crack your face open on the front step, we're gonna have to carry -you- in, too. Personally, I don't fancy the prospect of dragging you down the hall. The guys would look at me all funny."  
  
"Which would be entirely different from other occasions how?"  
  
"Oh, eat me." Jed shook himself briefly as soon as they were under the fraternity's wooden overhang.   
  
Water poured down from the roof, spilling onto the porch. The door was already open - it -was- sunset, after all, so all the kegs were being brought inside for a night of good partying. A few pledges were situated in the lounge on an old paisely couch, beers in hand. They watched Jed direct an utterly exhausted Malachi into the house and down the hall with no small amount of intrigue.  
  
"Shit, man, what happened to you, Malachi?" one called, taking a swig from his beer. "Someone die?"  
  
"Almost." Before he was asked to explain, Malachi disappeared into his room. The door was opened and shut so fast, Jed caught it right in the nose; the curt slam indicated "I am to be undisturbed" in no uncertain terms.  
  
As the blonde turned back toward the kitchen, cussing under his breath and rubbing his face, Neff appeared with two cups of coffee.  
  
"Let me guess," Jed muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose and wincing. "Put the Prince in there, did you?"  
  
"How'd you guess?"  
  
"Oh, I had a very intimate encounter with the door."  
  
"Which is probably the most intimate encounter you've had recently."  
  
"Fuck you, man."  
  
"Yeah. You, too." Neff took a sip of his coffee, grunting slightly. His throat wasn't really ready for complicated tasks, like swallowing.  
  
The blonde eyed him over his mug. "Very smooth, my man. Dump scalding liquid on your already shitty throat. Your brilliance astounds me."   
  
"Well, screw you, too." The brunette sneered, swatting Jed on the back. Unfortunately, the blonde was taking a drink of his coffee at the time, and proceeded to slosh it all over himself.  
  
"Shit, Neff! Nice going!" He then proceeded to wipe coffee onto the already-soiled Budweiser shirt. "I hope Malachi wasn't especially fond of this shirt."  
  
"Nah, he doesn't even like Budweiser, piss that it is." Neff found a seat on a couch in an empty corner of the lounge. The night was still young, and the crowd would not be arriving for a few hours yet. Normally he would be zeroing in on the spot with the most people, but he did not particularly feel like socializing tonight.   
  
"Hey Jed, man, you coming out with us tonight?" a less-than-sober frat brother hollered across the room. "We're gonna get a bunch of guys together and play softball! Well, at least we'll be heading to the field with a few six packs, and if we end up swinging sticks at things, so be it."  
  
"I think I'll opt out tonight, guys," the blonde answered meekly, rubbing at a particularly painful bruise on his side. He didn't want to think about what it would feel like to get tackled by a bunch of drunken guys with sticks at the moment.  
  
"Aww, c'mon J-Dog! We need someone out there who doesn't throw like a girl, and--dude, chicks! We need some chicks at this thing! Hey girls, you wanna play some softball?" His attention thus averted, the pledge stumbled off towards the kitchen, narrowly dodging Zory as he did so.  
  
"Can we please relocate some place quieter?" the blonde asked, wrinkling his nose up at the smell of beer and other, less legal things.   
  
"Sounds alright by me," Neff muttered. He stood rather stiffly, picking up his coffee cup and Mamoru's cellphone, which apparently hadn't moved since their earlier unfortunate encounter with raving Senshi.   
  
Jed followed suit, wincing as he did so - unlike the brunette, who had a throat to agonize over, Jed's chest and lungs were still the focus of -his- attention. Seeing this, Zory quickly stepped in, slipping a slender arm around an unbruised portion of his friend's waist as the three men wandered vaguely in the direction of Neff's unoccupied room.  
  
"That's not necessary, you know," Jed groused, although he didn't much sound like he meant it. Truth be told, he could use all the help he was offered, but he had a macho appearence to maintain. That was, at least, until Neff shut his door.  
  
Zory deposited the other blonde on a well-worn armchair, and he let out a strange noise, somewhere between a grunt and a whine. "I can't tell you how glad I'll be when this day is over and done with."  
  
"I'll drink to that," Neff croaked, holding up his coffee in a mock toast. He took a hearty swig, and made a face as the warm liquid hit his throat. If he hadn't needed the caffeine so badly, the drink wouldn't be worth it, but he figured he couldn't afford to be asleep tonight.  
  
"Stop that." Zory flipped on the light switch, as the sun had already set completely, and Neff's room was not the cleanest or least hazardous in the frathouse. "You really shouldn't be drinking that stuff right now, Neff. I don't need to remind you that your windpipe was just about crushed a few hours ago - the least you can do is let it heal properly."  
  
Neff rolled his eyes. "Yes, Mother. Three bags full, Mother." He ducked as a running shoe sailed over his head, leaving a greasy smear when it hit the fall and fell to the floor.  
  
"So where did our jolly pair get to?" Zory eyed the bed skeptically before clearing a pile of dirty shirts out of the way and perching on one corner.  
  
"Locked themselves in Malachi's room, of course. I imagine they're both comatose by now."  
  
"Or they're making sweet, sweet love on Malachi's bed," Jed quipped, his head tilted fully back against the back of the chair. "To which I say, 'I'm glad this room isn't next to theirs.'"  
  
Zory snickered. "I highly doubt that either of them are up to much loving right now."  
  
"They should be. Malachi seriously needs to get laid, man. I'm telling you, it'd solve all their problems."  
  
"I don't think every problem can be solved by taking one's pants off, Jed, though I'm sure they appreciate your concern."   
  
Neff snickered, then winced as another gulp of coffee stung his throat.  
  
"Would you quit that?" Zory snapped, storming into Neff's bathroom to get him some water. He had to pick his way across the unclean floor, and made a noise of disgust as he searched for something resembling a cup. "What are you doing drinking caffeine this late, anyway?"  
  
"Well, someone needs to stay awake tonight, and Malachi's definitely not up to it. We're all so tired right now, if that clone bitch were to attack while we're asleep, she could knock the whole house over before any of us wake up."  
  
Jed lifted his head. "Do my ears decieve me, or was that Neff thinking ahead just now?"  
  
"Har har, Mister Funny Jed," Neff muttered, as Zory reappeared from the bathroom. He thrusted a somewhat mold-encrusted glass into Neff's hands, his face scrunched in disgust.  
  
"It was the best I could do without braving the kitchen again," the blonde explained, wiping his hands furiously on his jeans.  
  
Jed looked like he wanted to interject, probably with another quip about how badly Malachi and Mamoru were in need of a good lay, when the tune of Cirque du Soleil's "Alegria" rudely interrupted him. It was Mamoru's cellphone, hopping around furiously on Neff's bed as it rang, and everyone stopped to stare at it, nothing short of incredulous.  
  
"Someone want to answer that?" Neff asked, practically having to shout over the incessant tone. He picked it up, with much more suspicion than the mold-covered cup in his other hand, and looked from Zory to Jed.  
  
"Give it to him," Jed whined, splaying out further on the armchair. "If it's the Senshi, I can't deal with that right now. Besides, he speaks Japanese. A little. Right?"  
  
Zory's face dropped into his hands. "Jed, you were speaking Japanese this morning, you idiot. You're sharing the same brain as a native Japanese speaker, remember? You know the language by default."  
  
"Whatever, all that shared knowledge stuff is too much for my fragile brain to handle." He scrunched his eyes up, as if attempting to glare at his own forehead--or rather, the extra being that resided just beyond said forehead. "And you shut up too, you Neanderthal."  
  
The phone continued blaring its cheerful tune. "Someone please, answer that," Neff groaned.  
  
"Why don't you answer it?"  
  
"I have a crushed windpipe, darn it, I can't talk on the phone now."  
  
"You seem to be talking just fine at the moment."  
  
"No way, man. My throat's killing me." He took a swig from the mouldy glass, just to prove it.  
  
"Well someone answer it!" Zory shrieked over the ever-present ring.  
  
"Why don't you answer it?" Jed looked at him pointedly.  
  
"Because I'm freaking scared of those women, and I'm not afraid to admit it, that's why."  
  
"Well someone has to answer it, and I'm sure as hell not."  
  
"Me either."  
  
Neff merely shook his head and made a sort of grunt, throwing his own "me either" in there.  
  
All three intendly watched the phone, buzzing and blaring pleasantly in Neff's hand. "So what do we do now?" Zory asked cautiously.  
  
"Maybe if we leave it alone, it'll stop." Jed eyed the small object as though it might make a flying leap onto his face.  
  
Before anyone had better, more logical plans of attack for the whinging cellphone, a groggy, disheveled Prince flung the door open, blinking to adjust to the amount of light in the room.  
  
"'Zat my phone?" he said blearily, rubbing his face in an attempt to become fully conscious.  
  
Neff held the small phone in the air, looking like he'd rather step on it than answer it. "We've been drawing straws to see who gets to face the wrath of those terrifying women. So far, the conclusion is 'no one.'"  
  
"Give it to me."  
  
The three Shitennou blanched. "Excuse me?" Zory managed, over various choking noises. "Prince, are you insane? You can't deal with them right now."  
  
"If I don't do it now, I never will. I mean, who knows when I'll start melting on people again." Mamoru nearly stomped all the way into the room, and held out his hand expectantly. "Hand it over."  
  
His tone left little room for argument. It was the sort of voice that was seldom heard coming from Mamoru--the kind that was firm and decisive, that gave orders instead of requests, that was usually reserved for epic battles and matters of the state, rather than whether or not he was allowed to answer his own cell phone. It was a voice that had been heard more frequently once, in a kingdom that was lost and forgotten long ago, and which stirred in his guardians a deep, unquestioning obedience which even they could not explain.  
  
Without a word, Neff dropped the phone into his hand.  
  
The Prince of Earth stared at the tiny blaring object in his palm, steeling himself. He took a deep breath, then flipped the phone open. "Hello?"  
  
The other end of the line was silent for a moment, and then someone cleared their throat. "Mamoru-san."  
  
Mamoru tried his hardest not to faint when he heard Rei's voice. At least she wasn't screaming obscenities. Yet. "Rei-chan. It's...I'm...Well, you called. Did everything go well with Usako's surgery? I've been...There were things. I was going to call back--"  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
"--but I was kind of...what?"  
  
"I'm sorry. We all are."  
  
Zory exchanged a look with Jed, as they both were unable to comprehend the strange look on their Prince's face. He almost looked like his jaw was coming unhinged.   
  
"You're...sorry?" Mamoru said, with no small amount of incredulity. That was not like them. They must have been having some serious guilt about the things they'd said and done, in order to apologize. Or Usagi had continued to slap people around after his nightmare had cut out.  
  
"The three of us are -especially- sorry," Makoto's voice came in, a little further away from the phone. "We didn't have any right to threaten you like that. It was just a bunch of misunderstandings, and we should have given you the benefit of the doubt, but we didn't."  
  
"We were stupid, Prince." More than anything, it was Haruka's voice, especially remorseful, that almost caused the Prince to keel over. "We didn't give you the respect you rightly deserve. And I should have listened to you, when you were trying to tell me about the...things."  
  
"The clones," Ami clarified, apparently getting her own handle on the phone. "Haruka-san told us what you told her, after she tried to call you from the tree. She thought you were just making up stories, but Usagi-chan saw what happened earlier, with..." There was an awkward pause, as though Ami didn't really want to dwell on 'what happened earlier.' "Well, anyway."  
  
"I...I don't know what to say." Mamoru was speechless. He knew he wanted to say 'apology accepted,' to put it all behind him, to return to the happy place where Usagi loved him and the Senshi were just mildly paranoid, instead of raging anti-Mamoru tinhats, but he was so shocked by the gesture that all the words failed him.  
  
"You don't have to accept the apology," Rei said, coming back within range of the phone. "We said some awful things, Mamoru-san, and you deserve better. But just know that we feel terrible. Our behavior was inexcusable, especially in front of Usagi. We want to make it right, if you'll let us."  
  
Mamoru decided that he needed to sit down. He aimed for the nearest surface--the edge of Neff's bed--and would have missed it by about three feet, had Zory not intervened. "O-okay..." he stammered.  
  
"Can you forgive us, Mamoru-san? We know we said some pretty harsh things earlier, and we're so sorry for that. None of us were thinking straight. It all just looked so bad, and--well, logic sort of flew out the window. We'll understand it if you never want to speak to us again, but we really hope you can forgive our moment of stupidity."  
  
Chiba Mamoru, Prince of the Earth, warrior who could turn his enemies to dust with a few words and some well-placed sparkles, had never been so floored in his life. When he finally found his voice again, all he could manage was, "sure. Of... of course I can."  
  
There was an audible chorus of relieved sighs on the other end, followed by a few distant "thank yous." Mamoru would have smiled at the irony, or grinned in triumph, if he were not frozen in a state of shock.  
  
"Now that that's all behind us," Rei continued, the phone back at her ear, "there's a few things that need clearing up. Do you mind, Mamoru-san?"  
  
"They don't involve yelling at me, do they?"  
  
"I promise, there will be no yelling involved."  
  
"Can I ask how Usa is, first?"  
  
"She's recovering just fine. They released her this morning, and Ikuko-san is up pampering her right now. She made us promise that we'd let her talk to you as soon as she's finished eating the giant meal Ikuko made for her." The smile was evident in Rei's voice. "She's already demolished five courses."  
  
Mamoru could barely help the grin that spread across his face. Somehow, the news of Usagi's appetite made his heart swell for her just as much as if someone had described to him how soft her hair was. "That's my girl," he croaked.  
  
"Alright, first question, Mamoru-san. Are you okay? Between what you said yesterday and what happened today..."  
  
"I'm fine, Rei-chan. Sleep deprived and kicked around a lot, but I'll live." Somehow, after three days of going without food or sleep, being repeatedly beaten within an inch of his life, and having his emotions bulldozed to the ground and then stomped upon by white stiletto sailor senshi boots, it seemed like the under statement of the year. But his Usako was okay and the Senshi were feeling apologetic, and his hellish experience was beginning to look not so bad after all.   
  
"So, was there more than what Usagi...I mean, more than earlier? I mean, I'm pretty sure that qualifies as 'a lot,' but Haruka-san gave us the distinct impression that it's been going on awhile. And Mako-chan said she talked to someone earlier, and -they- said something about a clone with a Space Sword."  
  
"Oh, I've seen the full gamut of clonse in the last 72 hours, Rei-chan. And let me say, I have a new found respect for any youma, daimon, lemure, phage, or any other unfortunate thing that happens to get in your way." Mamoru wanted to ask what Rei meant by 'more than what Usagi...', but he figured he'd get to it later. Right now, he was going to enjoy the relative calm of this conversation.  
  
"I'd probably find this amusing, were the circumstances different. Hold on, I'm gonna give the phone to Ami-chan. She wants to take some notes on these clone things."  
  
There was a brief shuffle on the phone's other end, during which the three forgotten Shitennou gave each other more confused looks. The call was going well - remarkably well, in fact - and despite his need to sit down, the Prince didn't look like he was in immediate danger of wetting himself. They only wished Malachi was awake enough to be here.  
  
"So, you say there were clones of all of us?" Ami said, her tone proclaiming that she was now all business. Mamoru could hear her fingers clacking away on her computer, preparing God only knew what kinds of spreadsheets and data charts. "Did they show up in any particular order?"  
  
"It's gotten hard to keep track, what with all the maiming." Mamoru paused, considering. Which one -was- the first he'd seen?   
  
"The first one tried to freeze you to death, remember?"  
  
All four occupants of the room practically jumped out of their skins and turned their attention to the door, where an exhausted Malachi was propped up against a doorway, looking like he would just assume fall asleep in it than continue talking.  
  
"The first clone was, erm, a clone of you, Ami-chan. Albeit not a very convincing one," Mamoru said, sounding almost embarassed to be discussing it. "I was totally unprepared for an attack, and she got most of the way to freezing me before the Golden Crystal kicked in."  
  
"And then you fainted," Malachi supplied from the doorway, and it took all of Mamoru's self control to keep from making a sour face at him.  
  
"Yes, thank you, I remember that part well enough," the Prince said, switching to English. Then back to Japanese: "They followed a kind of pattern after that: Mars first, then she came back with Jupiter. Uranus, Neptune and Venus all appeared at once in one of my classes, then came back with Saturn and Pluto."  
  
He paused, giving Ami time to input all of that into her computer.   
  
"And then the...other one?" Ami asked quietly, once the flurry of typing had stopped.  
  
"Yeah," Mamoru answered stiffly, feeling like he should say more, but not really wanting to delve into all the horrible details of his most recent encounter. Besides, if they knew about how he had kissed that abomination... no, he did not want to think about that just now. They were not angry at him anymore, and that was the main thing.  
  
"What were their powers like? Were they similar to ours?"  
  
"Pretty much. The attack names were the same and everything, and I think one of them used the same henshin phrase. I think they felt a bit different, but then, that might've just been the exploding pain of having the snot beat out of me."  
  
"Except Lunette," Malachi amended. "Her powers were completely different from Usagi's."  
  
"Do -you- want to do all the talking?" The prince raised an eyebrow, flip-flopping between languages as easily as changing his shoes.   
  
"Just trying to be helpful, here." The white-haired man stifled a yawn.  
  
"Well thanks for the help, but you really should be in bed."  
  
"Preferably with him in it," Jed muttered, earning a swat on the back of the head from Zory.   
  
"Mamoru-san?"  
  
"Sorry, Ami-chan. The Sailor Moon clone is a bit different, but it's hard to tell how." Mostly because of temporary loss of sanity whenever he was near her.  
  
"Usagi-chan thinks its because she doesn't have the ginzuishou. Mamoru-san, is someone there with you?"  
  
"Just some...friends. Their Japanese isn't really all that good, though, so don't worry about them listening in. They just keep pestering me."  
  
"I resent that," Malachi said from the doorway, in perfect, unaccented Japanese. "I believe 'they just keep saving me from certain doom' is more appropriate."  
  
There was silence on the phone line, and Mamoru cleared his throat.  
  
"Ami-chan, I can explain--"  
  
"Mamoru-san." Ami's tone had gone flat, and Mamoru could almost -hear- her scowling. "I thought we were past this. Now, will you tell me who they really are?"  
  
"Well..."  
  
"Usagi-chan thinks they're from the Dark Kingdom, and they're trying to hurt you. Is this true?"  
  
"No!" Mamoru yelled, practically throwing the phone from the force of his response. He blushed a little at the outburst, but kept going. "No, Ami-chan, it's not like that. I mean, they were in the Dark Kingdom, once, but I was, too..."   
  
He had to stop and clear his throat. No time to dwell on that now. "No. No, they'd never hurt me. In fact, they've done more to get hurt -for- me than I've ever seen from you guys. I mean, at least you have some tactical skills. These guys just throw themselves in front of whatever comes my way, no matter how sharp and pointy it is. They're trying to make up for twenty years of living in rocks."  
  
"Tell me about what happened earlier, Mamoru-san." Ami's voice abruptly turned into Rei's - from the disgruntled sigh on the other end, it was obvious that the black-haired girl had stolen the phone, obviously without permission. "You don't have to tell me everything, if it's too painful. But tell me what Usagi was seeing. She can't tell us, even though she tried, because it scares her too much. But we have to know. Tell me about the Sailor Moon clone."  
  
"Wait, what was Usako seeing?" A cold pang of horror twisted his stomach at the thought of her watching him kiss that disgusting creature.  
  
"She saw you get hurt, Mamoru-san. Do you think you can get stabbed by a Moon Tier and not have your girlfriend know about it?"  
  
"Oh. I - I guess I hadn't thought of that." So maybe she hadn't seen the worst part, after all. Relief flowed through him, but only minimally. The event had still happened, whether he liked to admit it or not. Much as he wanted to hide it, he knew he could not keep it from his Princess. At the very least, she would be able to hear it from him, and not misinterpret what had probably looked like a very bad scene.  
  
"So what did happen? Usagi's description was pretty jumbled. All we really got was that you were in a bad state, and that some copy of her was responsible."  
  
"It's... well, it would take a long time to describe, Rei-chan. That clone--she's called Lunette--" he hardly bothered to hide the contempt in his voice at the mention of her name, "she showed up right after one of our fights, and I... I guess I was sort of confused at the time, and..."  
  
"And you thought she was Usagi," Rei said simply.   
  
"Sort of, yeah. I mean, of course I know my own Usako, but this clone just showed up out of nowhere and I wanted so much to see her just then, and..."  
  
"Mamoru-san, calm down. I'm not trying to convict you for falling into the enemy's trap, alright? But if that clone did suck you in so easily, this is pretty serious. To use a tactic like that, they had to know a lot about you, right?"  
  
"They already knew my civilian form right from the beginning. After that, it's not too difficult to figure out who I'm madly in love with."  
  
"They seem to only be targetting you, Mamoru-san, which is rather unusual for an enemy." Ami's voice returned, along with the furious clack of her computer.   
  
Sure it's unusual,Mamoru thought dryly. Normally they just want me in addition to ruling the universe. Like a perk.  
  
"Any idea what they're after?"  
  
"Isn't it obvious?" he asked wearily.  
  
"Easy, Mamoru-san, it's just a question." Ami paused in her furious finger assault on her computer, clucking her tongue and sighing. As soon as it stopped, it began again. "And they don't seem to want anything else? The Golden Crystal, the Earth, using you to get to us?"  
  
"No, they're pretty straightforward about what they want. My head on a pike, to be specific."  
  
"Have they ever mentioned who sent them?"  
  
"Not so much as a word about it. But I did find something..." Seems like years ago, now,Mamoru thought. "During the Dark Kingdom, Nephrite had a base under this university. I stumbled upon it - well, that pert little Uranus clone threw me into it, rather." There was a sharp intake of breath and a quiet muttering that wasn't from the phone, but it certainly sounded like Haruka - had he been put on a speaker?  
  
"Did you find anything there?" Makoto's voice; apparently, the phone was seeing a lot of action today. "I mean, relevant things. I don't want to think about the other stuff that could be down there."  
  
"There was one thing. A statue of Beryl, that I was told used to be like a Tupperware container for captured energy. It should have been long drained dry, but...but it was -glowing-. Like someone was using it."  
  
"You see, I -knew- it!" Minako's voice, now. "I knew those guys were behind it! They've got you duped, Mamoru-san."  
  
"Hey, I most definitely did not say that they were behind it, and I would thank you to keep your accusations to yourself," Mamoru snapped, his infrequently used royal authority creeping back into his voice. He was not going to stand by while his guardians were accused of still playing for the wrong side.  
  
"Mamoru-san, don't be so blind. Usagi-chan told us who she saw, and you don't think it's more than a coincidence that they showed up, with a Dark Kingdom base suddenly back in operations?"  
  
"No, Minako-chan, I don't think any such thing. For one thing, it was not 'back in operations.' The only thing that was in working order was that statue. No youma running around, no henchmen cackling evilly, nothing was happening. For all I know, it was a decoy. And unless -you've- taken a Silence Glaive to your stomach, or had your shoulder broken in a ten foot fall, in any recent span of time, I don't think you have the right to claim things about my guardians."  
  
Minako's voice was so sour, Mamoru had the resist the urge to pucker at just the sound. "Oh, so -they're- your guardians now? I suppose, since you have your situation so well under control, you don't need -our- help anymore."  
  
"Minako-chan," Rei said, with no small amount of warning. The unspoken part of that sentence was 'knock it off before I knock -you- off.'  
  
"May I remind you," the Prince said, struggling to stay calm, "that up until six hours ago, you all wanted to do me greivous bodily harm, and made that clear in no uncertain terms? I was pretty sure you'd shoot me on sight if I ever came back home, which does not for very willing guardians make."  
  
Mamoru's was losing his fight with the creeping rage. "Now, if you would so kindly -shut up-, Minako-chan, I would like to get the rest of this story out in the open! Unless, of course, you would -also- like to accuse -me- of working undercover for the Death Busters, while you're thinking of it."  
  
"And how do you know that they aren't just using you?" Minako raged, apparently on a role now. "How do you know that they haven't been trying to gain your trust in order to get information about us? We're talking about people who murdered innocent people for the fun of it! Low-lifes who gain sick pleasure from destroying all that is good in the world! Their actions in the past helped destroy an entire kingdom! They're Dark Kingdom scum and they're always gonna be Dark Kingdom scum!"  
  
"That's enough!" Mamoru was on his feet now, his hand gripping the phone so hard that it nearly cracked beneath his fingers. Thousands of years of royal blood charged his voice with a noble power that positively boomed across the seemingly minute ocean that divided them, echoing throughout both the frat house and the Tsukino residence like the first tremors of a devastating earthquake. In the final, shuddering reverberations, all went quiet. The music that had been blaring from beyond the hallway had stopped, as frat boys stared at each other in confusion, wondering what that sound was--for it could not have been human--and why it instilled in them such a sudden urgency for silence. Over the phone, not even a breath could be heard from the girls. Around Mamoru, the Prince's guardians were watching him with expressions of various shades between silent awe and knowing smiles. He failed to notice their internal struggles to keep from kneeling in front of him just then.  
  
Through the sudden stillness, only the sound of the Prince of Earth taking a calming breath could be heard. "Don't ever say that again, Minako." His voice was low and controlled, the power that had escalated behind it still there, but harnessed. It was very quiet, but in the all-consuming silence, could not have been heard more clearly if he were shouting it through a bullhorn. "You don't know what you're talking about. The Shitennou have been my guardians from the very beginning. Circumstances have prevented them from performing their original duties until now, but they have chosen to return to me, and I have chosen to accept them. Regardless of whether or not you choose to trust them, you -will- accept my decision. They are my guardians and my brothers, and I will not have you showing them such disrespect again." It was difficult to tell when he had stopped speaking as Mamoru and started speaking as Prince Endymion. The two seemed one in the same, and looking at him now, with his torn and bloodied t-shirt, his unkempt hair, his eyes dark and swollen from exhaustion, the black-haired man could not have appeared more noble if he were standing on a dais with a golden crown upon his head.  
  
"Do I make myself clear?"  
  
No one on the other line dared to speak, or even breathe, in response. Had that just been Mamoru, the man who, for all intents and purposes, was about as commanding as a hamster with pinkeye? No, it had started out as Mamoru, but by the time his command - for that was indeed what it was - had ended, he was sharing space with Prince Endymion, who had rarely seen the light of day for years.  
  
"That was not a rhetorical question, Minako. Do. I. Make. Myself. Clear?"  
  
Finally, Minako spoke up, full of both shame and reverence. "Yes."  
  
"Good to hear. Now, can I get back to telling Rei-chan about what happened earlier?"  
  
"Mamochan?"  
  
Usako. She'd been there for the whole time, and he barely noticed. Well, she hadn't been able to get a word in edgewise, between the apolgies. Then, he was focused on defending the Shitennou's honor. But now, with just the sound of his name, he was pulled away from all that. Usagi was the only person in the entire world worth listening to at that moment, so far as he was concerned.  
  
"Yes, Usako?"  
  
"I...I want to talk to you by myself. I need to say some things, private things, and..."  
  
"That's more than fine by me, Usako." Truthfully, he was terrified and elated at the same time. Terrified because, well, he was sure Usako would demand all the details of his encounter with Lunette. And elated because maybe now he would have a chance to clear up all of -their- misunderstandings, to go back to some semblence of normalcy in their relationship. Enraged clones promoting wanton death and destruction notwithstanding.  
  
"Well, you heard your Prince." The giggle in the back of Usagi's voice was not lost on the black-haired man. "Go on, go talk to Mama in the kitchen. Before he has to yell at you again."  
  
Apparently, that was all the warning they needed. Mamoru could hear six pairs of feet quickly shuffle out of the room, talking quietly to each other. After they all passed, the door clicked shut, and the couple was alone.   
  
Except for the fact that the Shitennou were still there, watching him. The Prince made a motion to shoo them out of the room, but before they could even take a step, Usagi spoke up.  
  
"They don't have to go, Mamochan. Actually, I kinda want them to stay. I want to say something to Kunzite later, if you're okay with that."  
  
"I think that would be a great idea." When Malachi gave Mamoru a strange look, he gestured from the white-haired man to the phone a few times, to indicate that he was going to converse with everyone's favorite galaxy saving heroine. Malachi didn't say anything to that; he just positioned himself in Neff's other available chair, of the plastic lawn variety, and waited.  
  
"So tell me all about it!" the odangoed girl chirped.  
  
"A-about Lunette? Well, uh..."  
  
"Not that, silly. About your new friends!"  
  
"Oh, okay. But first I should really--"  
  
"How did you meet them? Did you know them right away?"  
  
"Well, sort of. But--"  
  
"Have you been having fun with them? I hope they're making you get out more, Mamochan, because you're really by yourself too much."  
  
"Well--"  
  
"What's it like fighting with them? Are they very different from Senshi?"  
  
"Darn it, Usako, I'm trying to tell you that I accidently kissed Lunette." Mamoru sighed. He really did not mean to blurt it out like that, but he just couldn't stand her not knowing. He did not want to hang up this phone with a guilty conscience again.  
  
Oddly enough, Usagi's tone never lost its cheerfulness. "Mamochan, were you or were you not under that clone's influence at the time?"  
  
"I was. I mean, I think I was, it's sort of hard to remember, but..."  
  
"Then what are you so worried about? Goodness, Mamochan, do you have any idea how many enemies I've seen you 'accidently kiss?' We need to start charging them for it, there's so many lined up." She giggled so lightly that Mamoru thought his knees would go weak. "We should start one of those kissing booths! Daimon and youma get a special discount! Forget the whole doctor thing, Mamochan. You'll make way more money this way."  
  
"I really hope you're joking."  
  
"Maybe I am, maybe I'm not," she teased. "But that's not important. The important thing is that I love you and I don't care if that clone made you do the Macarena, 'cause it wasn't your fault and I won't get mad about it. I'm just glad you're okay! I was so worried..."  
  
"You're too good to me, Usako."  
  
"I have to be good to you, after those awful things I said." Usagi sighed, and Mamoru could almost imagine her face. She was probably frowning, blue eyes looking off to the side, at her carpet or her shoes. She was probably fidgeting, too, trying her little hands into very large knots. "Mamochan, I'm sorry. I should have let you explain. I was mad, but I should know better than to think you'd hurt me like that."  
  
If Mamoru could have jumped through the phone and given her a big hug, he would have. "Usako, it was all misunderstandings. Lunette was following me, and I couldn't get her to leave, and before I knew it she was on me and next to the phone. It wasn't your fault. You had a right to be angry."  
  
"But not that angry, Mamochan. The Senshi just had me all het up; they couldn't go one day without muttering things about 'ooh, I hope he's not doing things with co-eds right now, or I'll put my fist in his well, anyway.' And I was always telling them to stop, that we could trust you, but I didn't. Not when it mattered. It's easy to -say- I trust you, but I'm always getting upset when you even look at other women, and I get all jealous because they're prettier than me, or do things better than me. And it's not fair, because -you- never do that when I look at other men."  
  
"Because I know you're not serious. Usako, you're a teenage girl; you're supposed to have crushes. It's in your genetic code. You also happen to be a social anomoly - I don't think any of your classmates have had a relationship so serious that rings were exchanged over it."  
  
Usagi giggled, and Mamoru couldn't stop the madman grin that came to his face. "I know it's normal, but that doesn't mean I don't feel bad. You never even roll your eyes or anything!"  
  
"Do you -want- me to start being a jealous boyfriend? Because I could probably start with giving Haruka-san a run for her money. Although I think you've already done a better job than me in that department."  
  
"You -saw- that?" The blue-eyed girl sounded almost embarrassed. "I didn't mean to hit her that hard. I just got so upset, and then my hand was flying... actually, Mamochan, maybe you should stay the way you are. I think we only need one spazz in this relationship."  
  
The four guardians watched their Prince as he lounged on Neff's bed, the easy grin on his face showing that he had already forgotten that they were listening. For him, there was only one other person in the world right now, and that person was the cheerful schoolgirl on the other end of the phone line. It was difficult for them not to smile, the way he looked so happy and relaxed, as though the horrors of the last few days were little more than a bad dream.  
  
Malachi sat back against the plastic chair, doing his best to remain awake until it was his turn for the phone. A hand brushed through his hair from behind. "Couldn't sleep?" Zory said softly, just quietly enough that Mamoru could not hear. The silver-haired man knew what he meant. He had fully intended to be unconscious at this moment, and probably would have been, if not for that phonecall.  
  
He nodded slightly towards Mamoru. "Not while he's up, I can't."  
  
The blonde sighed, his fingers playing through the silken white strands. He saved his disapproving look for later, because he knew that Malachi could not help himself. Even though he was dead on his feet, even though Mamoru would have been just down the hall, even though his Prince had three other guardians there with him, the leader of the Shitennou would have still been too worried to let himself get any rest. With the impending threat of the Lunette clone, along with any other force of evil that might come riding on her heels, his protection mode was now on hyperdrive, and he would not rest unless he was certain that his Prince was safe. Which meant that he had to be able to see him at all times.  
  
"How's that shoulder doing? Want some painkillers?"  
  
"I could really use some."  
  
Zory dug the bottle out of his pocket and pried the lid open, careful not to rattle the pills too much. Unobtrusively, he slipped two of them into the other man's big hand. Both were distinctly aware that if they made too big a deal about it, Mamoru would start guilting about Malachi's injuries. Which, being Mamoru, would be a dangerous thing for him to do right now. Maybe in a week or two, when the threat was gone and Mamoru was in better shape, they would let him heal Malachi's shoulder, and any other remaining injuries that the others had. For now, they needed to keep him from overexerting himself.  
  
"Malachi?"  
  
"Nngh?" the guardian responded eloquently, having just popped the painkillers in his mouth. He was in mid-motion, reaching for Neff's moldy water glass, when he found a cellphone placed in his hand, instead.  
  
Mamoru smiled pleasantly from his position, almost looming over the slumped, exhausted Malachi. "Usako wants to talk to you. She promised to be brief, because I told her you look like crap and need some sleep."  
  
"Thanks, Prince." Malachi looked at the phone as though he were afraid to use it. He wasn't quite sure what he was expecting to come out of the other end. He half expected, 'Hey, are you the same Kunzite who killed Mamoru a few years ago and skipped off with him to the Dark Kingdom? You are? Oh, well, then, if you would kindly stay -away- from him before I send eight irate Senshi to maim you beyond recognition, that'd be really swell.'  
  
Clearing his throat, he said in the least exhausted voice he could muster, "Hello?"  
  
"Hey, would this be Kunzite?"  
  
"Yep. Would this be the Princess?"  
  
The young girl giggled--a warm, refreshing sound, like sunshine on water. "It would be. Mamochan said you're beat, so I won't keep you long. I just wanted to clear some things up with you, okay?"  
  
"I'm all yours, Princess."  
  
"Is he okay? I mean, really? 'Cause I know he has this really bad habit of saying he's okay when he's really not, and I just want to make sure."  
  
"After talking to you, Princess, he looks better than he has in days." The white haired man smirked at the look that Mamoru gave him. "And that's saying an awful lot, being that he also has this habit of forgetting to eat for days at a time."  
  
"You noticed that too, did you? You managed to do something about it, I hope. He's very difficult to pin down long enough to get a decent meal in him, even when armed with my mama's cooking."  
  
"Oh, we force-fed him eggs this morning, and we might even get something else in him tonight, if we're lucky."  
  
"I'm glad to hear it. And I have to know--are you making him do something other than stare at a text book sometimes? Like maybe, have some fun? Because he really needs to learn how to get out."  
  
"You can trust me, Princess, when I say that he won't be spending all his time stuck in a text book."  
  
"Well, Mamochan speaks really highly of you guys, so I know I don't have to worry about anything. If you have his trust, you know that you already have mine."  
  
"Coming from you, Princess, that is a great compliment."  
  
She giggled again, and for a few moments, Malachi almost forgot that he was tired. She was like the first gust of warm wind on a spring day. "You can stop with the Princess thing. Usagi is just fine, Kunzite."  
  
"Usagi, then. And you can call me Malachi."  
  
"Malachi." Usagi said the name slowly, trying to copy his pronunciation. "So, Malachi, how big a threat are these clones, really? Mamochan doesn't want to worry me, so he won't tell me the whole truth, but I know you will."  
  
"It's...They're rough, Pri--Usagi. They're powerful, they know our weaknesses." Malachi looked at Mamoru, then at the other three Shitennou. "We're fighting our hardest, but we're getting the crap beaten out of us."  
  
"You don't think it's the Dark Kingdom, do you?"  
  
"The statue in Nephrite's old base was probably a decoy. We don't know for sure, but the Dark Kingdom was never that sophisticated. More smashing, less planning."  
  
"And that's the only lead you have?"  
  
Malachi sighed, rubbing his forehead. He wished the painkillers would kick in. "That's the only lead we have. None of the clones have mentioned an organization of any kind, or a motive, aside from 'do everything in your power to kill the Prince.' I'm afraid that whoever's in charge, they're waiting for the right time to drop the other shoe."  
  
There was silence on the line for a moment, as Usagi tried to take it all in.  
  
"You'll do your best to protect him for me?"  
  
"We'd lay down our lives for him, Princess." Malachi ignored the sour face Mamoru made when he said that. It was true, after all, even if they'd been having some issues with that as of late.  
  
"Usagi, Malachi. Call me Usagi. And I don't want you to do -that-; just keep him from being as reckless as he is when he's at home. Now he's the one they're after, but I know him, and he won't like being coddled. But if he's being silly, you have my permission to coddle the hell out of him."  
  
"Well as long as I have your permission," the white-haired man replied, barely able to mask the amusement in his voice.  
  
"Just make sure my Mamochan comes back to me in one piece, okay? I don't want to play 'hunt for the lost sailor crystal' any time soon."  
  
"I promise you that we will do everything in our power to make sure he does."  
  
"Thank you, Makalai. You don't know how much it means to me knowing that he has someone there to take care of him."  
  
"It's Malachi, Pr--Usagi. And it's our pleasure, trust me."  
  
"Malachi. Right. I'll remember that. Now, you sound like you're gonna fall asleep on me, Malachi, so you'd better let me say goodbye to my Mamochan. Get some rest, huh? Have a good night!"  
  
"Thank you, Usagi. You too." Malachi barely had time to remove the phone from his ear before it was eagerly snatched up by an impatient Prince.  
  
"Well, that sounded relatively painless." Zory had gone back to running his fingers through the long silver strands of hair. He loved playing with Malachi's hair (though for some reason, the white-haired man never let him tie it into pigtails).  
  
Malachi yawned into his fist. "I'd forgotten how easy she is to talk to. She excepted us right off the bat, no questions asked. Just like the past never happened."  
  
"Yeah, if there's one thing I remember about the Princess, it's that she'll take you as you are, no matter what you've done. At least, that's the impression I got."  
  
"Oh c'mon, Usako, don't make me say that."  
  
"Mamochan, are you embarrassed to tell your fiance that you love her in front of your friends?"  
  
"Well, not exactly, but..."  
  
"I'm not hanging up until you say it."  
  
Mamoru sighed, suddenly very much aware that Jed and Neff were both watching him. "I love you, precious," he mumbled.   
  
"I love you too, Mamochan. Oh, Ikuko-mama's giving me the look, so I'd better go. Bye now!"  
  
Mamoru hung up the phone, throwing a dirty look at both Neff and Jed, who looked like they were making a great effort to hold back laughter. "What?"  
  
"Oh, nothing. We didn't say a word," Jed said innocently.  
  
"...Precious," Neff added meekly, causing both of them to lose it.  
  
Zory sighed, exasperated. "You're both a couple of imbeciles, you know that?"  
  
The blonde received no reply, as the two men continued to laugh, with only the occasional pauses for breath. He grabbed Malachi by his good arm, and hoisted him as best he could out of his chair. With a last look of frustration, he steered the white-haired guardian out of the room and back towards his own before Malachi could even hope to protest.  
  
Lost in their helpless hysterics, Neff and Jed continued to laugh heartily even as their Prince disappeared out of the room, and if they noticed or cared, they didn't show it. Mamoru followed Zory and Malachi out into the hallway, past reveling fratboys who had recovered quite nicely from the booming, otherworldly scare they'd had. A few greeted him and offered him a drink, but he turned down the alcohol every time. He'd barely eaten all day, and wasn't even sure of how much had made it into his body, as having a Tier put through your stomach was not good for gastrointestinal health. Booze on an empty stomach was the least intelligent thing he could do.  
  
"I'll leave the painkillers on the table, so they won't accidentally get absorbed into the general drug train in this house," he heard Zory say, as he entered the bedroom he was now apparently sharing. The blonde was settling his friend into bed as best he could, but Malachi kept trying to get up, much to his chagrin.  
  
"Zory, I'm not sleeping until the Prince gets some of his own," he said anxiously, as he was firmly pushed back down on his bed. "I can't afford—-"  
  
"You can't afford to be awake for ten more seconds, Malachi, and you damn well know it." Mamoru stepped into the room and leaned on the doorway, giving his guardian a stern look. "I slept all the way home and for the last half an hour, and need I remind you that your other half practially anesthetized me? It wasn't your average, garden variety sleep. Right now, I could do with a shower just as badly as you could do with uninterrupted shut-eye. Argue, and we'll have to finish that wrestling match. And you've got a handicap."  
  
"I only need one arm to beat you into the ground, you know."  
  
"You couldn't beat me into the ground if you had two functioning arms and a baseball bat. But we'll settle that matter later, after you sleep."  
  
"Prince, that clone's going to attack again."  
  
"Of course she is. And you won't be much of a defense against her if you can't even keep your eyes open."  
  
"And I'll be even less helpful if I'm not even conscious at the time."  
  
"Look, if it makes you feel any better, I'll stay right here the whole time. If anything happens to me, you'll be right there to take care of it, alright?"  
  
The white-haired man sighed, looking like he was not in much shape to argue. Mamoru smiled, deciding that that was as close to a 'yes' as he was going to get. "Good. I promise, you're not going to sleep through anyone maiming me. And if you do, you have permission to hit me."  
  
"Oh, that makes me feel a lot better," the guardian grumbled, allowing Zory to prop up several pillows behind him. "At the very least, I should be on the couch. This is the Prince's bed now."  
  
The black-haired man chuckled. "I think I can live with lending it to you for one night, Malachi. I doubt that couch is very accommodating for people with broken shoulders."  
  
Zory plopped the bottle of pills down on the nightstand. "I'll leave the painkillers here. I think Mamoru can figure out the dosage so you don't go hurting yourself."  
  
"Gee, thanks," Malachi growled.  
  
"If he gives you any trouble, Prince, just get Neff in here to hold him down for you. Can I get you guys anything?"  
  
"Well, now that you mention it..." Mamoru looked down at his clothes. There was practically nothing left of his shirt; whatever spots that were not ripped or bloodstained were smeared with dirt, sweat, and other things he wasn't quite sure about. His pants were not much better, nor were his shoes, and a film of dirt and grime covered practically every bit of exposed skin. "A change of clothes and a bar of soap look mightily appealing right now."  
  
"You can borrow something of mine, Prince." Neff appeared at the doorway, with Jed right behind. "Malachi's stuff would drown you, Jed's too damn small, and Zory doesn't own anything but dresses."  
  
"I'll have you know there's a nice pantsuit in there, too, thank you very much," Zory snapped, trying his best to glare at the brunette. At best, he looked pouty. Jed errupted into a new bout of laughter as Neff shoved past him to find a pair of accomodating clothes.  
  
Malachi sighed, though it was obvious that he was surpressing his own laughter. "Zory, sometimes I think it would be better if you just didn't say anything to those two."  
  
"I can't help it! It's not -my- fault I'm small, blonde, phsyically underwhelming--"  
  
"--female--"  
  
"--and happen to own a dress or two," the blonde finished, exasperated. "They're not -my- dresses, anyway! I think Tethys left them for me as a joke."  
  
"She always did have an interesting sense of humor," Jed said, looking a little wistful. He looked like he was about to get sucked back into his 'survivor's guilt,' of sorts, but the moment passed, and he was back to his genial, dumbfounded self in seconds.  
  
"You didn't -have- to keep them, you know," Malachi continued, decidedly overlooking Jed's momentary lapse. "You could have gotten rid of them a long time ago."  
  
"Yeah, but they're so pretty. It'd be a shame to waste them..."  
  
"Maybe you can wear one of them to the next kegger and pick yourself up a hotOW! Dammit, Zory!" Jed rubbed his knee, whining in pain. "Ever consider a career in soccer? You kick like a fucking maniac."  
  
"I just prefer not to be picked on by the likes of you two," the blonde griped.  
  
"Here you go, Prince," Neff announced, returning with an armful of clothes. "Sorry they're not exactly high fashion, but they were the only clean things I could find."  
  
"Anything would be better than what I'm wearing now," Mamoru muttered, unfolding the t-shirt the brunette had handed to him. He read the front, blinked, read it again. The black-haired man lowered the shirt, raising an eyebrow at Neff. "Seme - It's Lonely at the Top?"  
  
That sent yet another eruption of laughter up from Jed. "Oh man, I just got that! Neff, you freaking wore that to the bar last week, too!"  
  
"It's Zory's fault," Neff insisted stoically. "He gave me that thing for Christmas. Told me it meant something entirely different, the little bitch."  
  
Zory leaned against Malachi's desk, grinning despite himself. "Damn, my evil plans have been revealed. Now I can't play tricks on you guys in other languages anymore. Not unless I learn a new one."  
  
Mamoru shook his head at Zory. "I would have never expected that of you."  
  
The blonde flashed him a vicious smirk. "I always get my revenge on them, trust me. They had uke shirts, too, but I knew I couldn't convince Neff to wear something that said 'root for the underdog.'"  
  
"You're all twisted, you know that? I'd almost feel badly for the counterparts living in your heads, if I weren't so amused." Mamoru pulled off the remains of his Azabu shirt and dropped it into a messy heap on the floor.   
  
He heard someone mutter 'oh God' as they got an eyeful of his bare chest, bruised in every color of the rainbow, dingy with blood and various other bodily fluids. Even though the wound in his abdomen was healed as though nothing had happened, they didn't account for a scar. It was bright, angry red, the size of a small melon, jagged from the places where the Tier's decoration had ripped his skin further. It would go away eventually, maybe even disappear the next time he used the Golden Crystal. There was also a smaller, dime-sized hole on his ribcage, reminiscent of the stiletto heel that had punctured his lung when he was too depressed to save himself.  
  
The Prince had nothing constructive to say, looking from four stricken faces to his ravaged, beaten body. He didn't -feel- all that bad, compared to a few hours ago, but he sure looked like all nine levels of Hell. Despite his heartening coversation with Usagi, his face was drawn, skin streched as though it was on the face of a corpse. Dark bags under his eyes weren't helping the cadaver image any, and just the look in his eyes alone made it look like he'd aged a few decades over twenty years.   
  
And he knew what was going through the Shitennou's collective mindset - this was -their- fault. If they had just protected him better, if they had done this and that, maybe he would have been spared all that pain. But he knew that wasn't true. Whoever this enemy was, for whatever reason they wanted him dead, they would have done this damage no matter how well trained they had been. They were out of practice, and they were still getting comfortable with the concept of two entirely seperate entities becoming just one, fighting memories and personal tastes and just the concept of having thousand-year-old spirits, technically an incarnation of you, living in your head.  
  
Somehow, it didn't seem like all of this had taken place over the course of a few days. It was like they had fallen into a time warp, and they were going normal speed while everything else had slowed to a crawl. He wondered if he could put a call through to the Time Gate and see what Setsuna had to say. Then he wondered if Setsuna even had a phone at the Time Gate. And then he wondered why he was wondering such weird things in the first place.  
  
Mamoru shifted uncomfortably beneath their collective gaze, turning away to pull on the new shirt, twisted though the message was. The action gave them an eyeful of the intricate web of cuts, burns, and abrasions on his back that he had earned from such fun-filled activities as being blown through windows and brick walls. Purple and greenish bruises dotted all along his spine, accenting the many others that covered his shoulders and ribs. A patch of hair was missing from the back of his head, replaced with a dark mess of blood that had dried in the tangled black locks. Something that looked like frostbite spread over one shoulder. Half-healed burn scars created a patchwork pattern all down his neck, where the tiny Jupiter clone had tried to electrocute him to death.   
  
He was like one of those villains from horror movies, the ones who could be blown to bits, and still come back with the chainsaw. Except there was no makeup or CG animation involved, and the closest thing Mamoru had to a chainsaw was a shiny piece of jewelry that made things go all sparkly.  
  
"Just stop it, alright?" Mamoru had managed to cover the worst of it with Neff's somewhat baggy shirt, and now stood hugging the rest of his clothes to his chest, his eyes avoiding the guilt and worry on their faces. "It's not that bad. It looks worse than it really is."  
  
"I sure hope it does," Malachi said, tone surprisingly neutral. Mamoru realized that his painkillers had finally started to kick in, and the white-haired guardian was looking more than a little bleary. He'd started to slump over in bed, propped up against approximately eighty pillows, and the Prince knew that even without sedatives, as soon as his shoulder stopped hurting, he'd be out like a light.  
  
"Guys, do you mind if I talk to Malachi for a minute alone? You can come back in after he passes out, but I just...uh..."  
  
"No need to explain, Prince," Jed said. He jerked his head in the direction of the door. "C'mon, boys. There's beer with our names on it. Well, maybe we'll make Zory a mai tai or something equally metrosexual."  
  
Before Zory could kick him again, Jed flew out the door, with the little blonde blur on his heels. Neff sighed, sounding remarkably like Malachi in his frustrations, and took off after them with the slightest hint of a smile on his face.  
  
The door closed behind them, and Mamoru breathed a sigh of relief. More than anything, he was glad simply that the awkward moment had passed. All of this extra attention his guardians were paying him, especially regarding his injuries, was making him more than a little uncomfortable.   
  
"I take it the painkillers are working?" Mamoru deposited Neff's clothes on the floor, crossing the room to the bed.  
  
"I've decided that I really like those things," Malachi answered groggily. "They make everything seem so much nicer." After a moment he added, a little more soberly, "So you noticed."  
  
"What, Zory sneaking you pills? You guys don't think you can hide that sort of thing from me that easily, do you?" He pulled the covers over his friend, straightening them out. "I'm not only a med student, Malachi, I'm also a master at hiding ailments. Next time, loudly proclaim that you're thirsty, and then take them in the kitchen while you're getting your drink. It's more discrete, and doesn't involve questionable glasses of water. At least, not unless you haven't done your dishes in a while."  
  
"Thanks for the tip. You're a real master of stealth, you are."  
  
Mamoru smiled, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "I have to be sometimes. When you have a girlfriend who tries to smother you with worry when you get even a headache, it's best not to be announcing it every time you feel a little sick."  
  
"Or maybe it's because you're all anal about letting people give you a hand."  
  
"Oh, all things considered, I really don't think you're one to talk in that department, Malachi."  
  
"Touché, I suppose," Malachi grumbled, head flopping back on the pillows. He sighed. "What now, Prince? Where can we go from here? We can't just wait for Lunette to come back. "  
  
"We may have to. What other leads do we have? The Dark Kingdom base?" Mamoru let out a sigh of his own. He threw up his hands. "If it -is- a decoy, they'd have us chasing our tails for God knows how long, and then they'd have us right where they want us. If it's real, then the last thing I want to do is hop right into the enemy's lair. No sense giving them homecourt advantage."  
  
"You sound like Neff."  
  
"You almost make that sound like an insult."  
  
The white-haired man snorted. "Sometimes it can be." He sighed, sinking back into the pillows. Those painkillers almost worked a little -too- well. Maybe he had made a mistake in taking them--the last thing he really needed right now was to be heavily medicated.  
  
Mamoru's hand softly brushed his forehead. "How's that headache? Did it go away?"  
  
"Of course it did. Soon as you jumped inside there. Oh, and please don't do that again. I have enough extra beings creeping around in my brain without adding you to the party."  
  
"Trust me, I don't plan on doing that again for a very long time." Mamoru shuddered. Just the thought of Malachi Brain Tentacles trying to eat him was enough to give him nightmares for the next month.  
  
Malachi closed his eyes against the oppressive glare of the bedroom light. "I guess I never thanked you for doing that. Even though it was an incredibly stupid thing to do," he added pointedly. "If you hadn't stepped in, I..." He turned away, watching the rain splatter against the dark window.  
  
"I know. Don't worry about it anymore, Malachi." He watched his guardian's face, still drawn and weary from the day's events. Mamoru knew that, for all the hell that Malachi looked right now, it was merely a shadow of what he had actually been feeling lately. He remembered what it was like when he'd stumbled across the 'Malachi' part of his consciousness, frightened and confused and mentally shivering with exhaustion, barely coherent and unable to understand a word of the reassurance that Mamoru attempted to offer. "Now hurry up and go to sleep. And that's doctor's orders."  
  
"Well I can't argue with doctor's orders. You'll stick to your promise? You won't go running off somewhere as soon as I'm unconscious?"  
  
"I promise, I will be right here the entire time."  
  
And while part of Malachi was afraid the Prince was going to worm out on that promise, the rest of him was far too exhausted to give anything but the benefit of the doubt. He attempted to roll on his side, but the sling made it impossible. With a resigned sigh, he closed his eyes and sprawled on his back as best he could.   
  
Mamoru watched, perched on the end of the bed, until he saw the soft, even breathing. Malachi was definitely asleep, and hopefully it would last longer this time. He didn't intend on receiving any calls any time soon, and tonight's frathouse rituals seemed unusually quiet. With any luck, there would be no clones, no wanton chaos and destruction, and his body could try and recover from an indescribably long 72 hours.  
  
He picked up the rest of the loaner clothes Neff had left for him, holding them flat in his hands as though he wasn't sure what to do with them. He needed a shower - his overwhelming funk made that clear in no uncertain terms. He probably needed a meal. And at some point in the future, he needed more sleep. There wasn't any need to make Malachi worry at that point, but he was definitely more tired than he let on. Knowing that everything had been squared away in Tokyo had given him a small recharge, but it wasn't nearly enough.  
  
And there was still the issue of Lunette, and her Big Bad Supervisor, to deal with.  
  
He sighed, retreating into the adjacent bathroom. If his experience with the phone call was any indication, then Malachi would be on his feet the moment he tried to leave the room. He had looked perfectly dead to the world when Mamoru stumbled out of bed in search of the source of the ringing, but it seemed that it had taken only a few minutes for his extra senses to kick in. He should have known that even a bad injury and days of worry and sleeplessness were not enough to tranquilize his guardian into not noticing when he went missing for a scant few minutes. Mamoru had no idea where the showers were in this house, but he had a feeling that they were at least as far away as Neff's room. Which meant that he would not be making a trip there at least until Malachi had had a decent level of rest.  
  
Fortunately, he had a perfectly clean bathroom at his disposal, complete with some basic sanitary products. After catching a glance at Neff's bathroom, he was tremendously relieved to see that Malachi believed in soap. He made use of the sink, managing to scrub off the worst of the grime and gore, and discarded the rest of his nearly-disintegrated clothing. The soapy water stung some of his remaining cuts and abrasions, but the pain was far preferable over feeling like a common swine, standing around in his own filth.  
  
He stared at his reflection in the mirror, running his hands through his damp hair. "Prince, that clone's going to attack again."He had acted like the thought did not bother him, but the truth was, Mamoru was more than a little scared. Not for himself, exactly; he had had so many near-death experiences lately that he was rather numb to the whole concept of being killed. No, what scared him was the thought that today's events might happen all over again, that he would turn on his friends and guardians without even a second thought. He had come very close to killing them last time--none of them said it, but he could see for himself how extensive the damage was, and this was after they had caught some of the feedback from his healing powers.   
  
And he had been inside Malachi's head, had seen first-hand certain memories that he knew he was not supposed to see. It had not been his intent to go digging around in his friend's brain for all the secret parts of his past, but how could he help it when Malachi just left those memories hanging like open books for anyone to see? He had seen that moment of absolute despair, when Malachi himself had been so certain that their lives were already approaching their ends that he was willing to give up everything to prevent it. That one memory shook Mamoru to the bone, and even now in the warm glow of the bathroom he could feel himself shudder. He would give anything to make it so that Malachi had not had to go through that, and he would give even more to make sure that he never had to go through it again. Especially knowing that he was the cause of it all in the first place.  
  
So what was left for him to do? He had a feeling that the final battle was approaching, much more quickly than the Shitennou wanted to believe. He'd stripped down the clones' forces until Lunette was all that remained. And if he had learned anything in his years with the Senshi, it was that the head villain always kept their appearance to the very last. And they always made sure -their- form of punishment was at least ten times greater than anything the minions had come up with. Mamoru scrubbed at his skin furiously with the bar of soap. That was most certainly -not- a reassuring thought.  
  
His only option was to initiate this battle before the Big Baddies had the chance to think of it themselves. That meant initiating it without the Shitennou finding out. But here again was a no-win situation. He could lie to them and run out, probably on a kamikaze mission, to stop the madness once and for all and keep them from getting hurt. Or he could let events happen as they would, knowing full well of the consequences, both for himself and his guardians.  
  
It was another thing he'd learned through the years with the Senshi. "The guardians always go first." Usually, that meant -he- went first, too. But this time he was not the protector, he was the protectee. The odds that he would be forced to watch the Shitennou die, in order to keep him alive, were disgustingly high. He'd already seen proof of that. How many times had they hovered on the brink of death lately, just to be pulled out at the last minute by the Golden Crystal? He didn't know how many more times he could watch.  
  
Mamoru picked up the pair of loaned boxers from the pile of clothing, finding the kitten-print fabric somewhat disconcerting. He had the feeling Neff chose that pair on purpose; it was in his nature to tease. This was followed by a pair of pants which, more or less, fit him. His old pair would barely qualify as an oil rag, let alone clothing, and he would take this generosity any way it came to him. He took another look in the mirror, grateful that he at least looked like a living human, if an exhausted one.   
  
The only flaw in the "don't tell the Shitennou and fight the Last Battle on your own" plan, as he saw it, was how furious Malachi would be when he found his Prince had escaped the premises, after swearing he wouldn't go anywhere. He was not one to take such promises lightly, and Mamoru knew that he would be due an angry talking-to as soon as he came back.   
  
-If- I come back,he thought, picking up the remains of his pants and underwear. I have to be realistic about this. I'm talking about going to the supposed lair of my very real enemy, no backup, to fight it out one-on-one with the person who stops at nothing to kill me. The Golden Crystal has a lot of power, but how much can -I- do before I run out? And what do I have to gain by playing right into my enemy's hands?  
  
He could spare the Shitennou indescribable amoutns of pain, that's what. Because they were friends first and guardians second, and no one ever wants to see their friends hurting. Especially when that hurting is potentially life-threatening, as it had been in the last few days. While they were protecting him, it was also his duty to protect -them-, and the best way to do that was to make sure they were here when he was fighting. And unless he came up with a better idea in the next half hour, it was the only way to do it.  
  
The thought did vaguely cross his mind that after the stern talking-to that Neff had given him, going against their wishes like this could be something akin to a betrayal. But regardless of how hurt his Shitennou might be that he refused to have them by his side during the final battle, Mamoru felt justified in knowing that he was doing this to protect them. His decision was not because he didn't want guardians; it was because he -did- want them, and that would only happen if they survived long enough to stick around.  
  
He tossed the remainders of his clothing into the waste basket--they had served him well, but it was time they passed on to Clothing Heaven--and returned to the bedroom. Malachi still lay sprawled on the pillows, his deep, steady breathing the only sign of life out of him. How long would it be before he jolted himself awake to find Mamoru missing? Ten minutes? Fifteen? If he ran fast, he might be able to make it out of here before Malachi opened his eyes. And then, of course, they would be delayed by their search for him, and hopefully would not figure out where he had gone for some time. With luck, it would buy him just enough time to do what he needed to do.  
  
With a resigned sigh, he turned away from the white-haired guardian who slept peacefully on the bed, and reached for the doorknob.  
  
Before his fingers even touched it, the door suddenly swung open, and Mamoru narrowly avoided adding insult to a multitude of injuries by getting a faceful of door. "He finally asleep?" Neff asked gruffly, his voice still being somewhat hoarse, his intense brown eyes showing surprisingly cheerful given the circumstances.  
  
"Oh, yeah. I was just coming to find you guys." Okay, so that was not entirely true, but "oh yeah, I was just about to sneak off on my own to fight an epic battle" did not seem like the best answer.  
  
"Zory said you'd be stuck in here until he woke up, so--"  
  
"We come bearing sustenance!" Jed bellowed behind the brunette, thrusting a pizza box up above his head like a trophy.  
  
Mamoru tried to motion for Jed to keep it down, but Neff just chuckled, moving aside to allow the two blondes through the doorway. "He'll sleep through anything, trust me. After living in this house, he's immune to any and all loud noises." Indeed, even Malachi's breathing had remained steady despite the shouts.  
  
The black-haired man shook his head. "And yet he'll be wide awake the moment I'm twenty meters away from him. He never ceases to amaze me."  
  
"Or me, for that matter." Zory tossed him a can of Vanilla Coke. "It was the only available alternative to beer," he explained. "And I figured you wouldn't be up to drinking with us just yet. At least not until you've got a bit less on your mind."  
  
Jed set the pizza on the floor, prying open the box with relish. "Not exactly fine cuisine, but Neff's too fucking lazy to cook."  
  
"Even if I wanted to, the kitchen's too crowded. I think half of Stanford is getting wasted on our table."  
  
Mamoru popped open the can of Coke, taking a sip. Ah, caffeine; a reliable friend of his. "They seem subdued tonight, if my first introduction to frat life was any indication."  
  
"Yeah, I'd don't know what's up with that." Jed helped himself to a very large slice of pizza. "Maybe it's the weather. I know I probably wouldn't want to be making out in the bushes in a downpour."  
  
"I find that hard to believe." Neff raised an eyebrow, dubious.  
  
Jed snorted. "Well, okay, -I- would, but you know I have the common sense of a gerbil. These guys, on the other hand, like staying dry when they--"  
  
"Pizza, Prince?" Zory interjected, holding out a greasy slice expectantly. "It's not exactly the greatest of meals, but I don't even want to think about how much of your breakfast ever made it into your system after...Just eat it, please, for the sake of my sanity."  
  
Mamoru set his soda on a nearby table, and accepted the pizza with no small amount of trepidation. He'd gotten used to instant ramen and microwaved dinners in recent weeks, but what they lacked in flavor and nutrient content, they made up for fat and calories. Of course, he could probably use some of both, as God only knew how much weight he'd lost recently. Carefully, he took a bite, and Zory looked immensely pleased with himself. Mamoru guessed it was his idea to bring in food, and there had been no argument from the other two, considering the way they devoured the pizza.  
  
"I see you cleaned up," Jed said, over a mouthful of pepperoni. It sounded more like "ah shmee you creaned muh," but somehow Mamoru managed to translate.  
  
"Unlike some people--" he glared briefly at Neff "--Malachi has a firm grasp on the concept of soap. It'll have to do until I can get in a shower, and since I don't want to trip his Mam-O-Meter's alarm wire, I don't think I'll get one of those any time soon."  
  
"I know about soap. It's that block of stuff on my sink that's turning green. Or, wait, was that that granola bar I left in there..."  
  
Zory's face scrunched up in disgust. "Neff, I am never entering your bathroom again."  
  
"Now, now, Zory, we can't all be hygienically obsessed like you." Jed sank onto the couch, steadily devouring his pizza.  
  
"Taking care of my hair does not make me obsessed. And I wouldn't sit there if I were you. Malachi'll squish you into a pulp if you get crumbs on his clean couch."  
  
The blonde mumbled something around his food that sounded somewhat like "oh shit" before he meekly slid to the floor. The four fratboys settled themselves around the box, the pizza becoming a sort of sacred hearth from which all were eager to partake.  
  
"I know I'm the culturally inept one here, but doesn't pizza usually take longer than this to have delivered? How'd you guys get one so fast?"  
  
"Swiped one from the living room," Neff said simply, picking out all the mushrooms and eating them with his fingers. He seemed to be eating his pizza one ingredient at a time, which Mamoru found weirdly fascinating. Especially since he was still going though slices faster than anyone else in the room.  
  
Mamoru raised an eyebrow. "You just took it?" His new friends never ceased to confuse him. Was stealing pizza an American thing, a fraternity thing, or merely a Shitennou thing? Or was it a combination of all three?  
  
"There were at least ten out there," Jed amended, as if this explained everything. When nothing else was said, Mamoru decided to let the matter drop. After all, there was food to be had, and regardless of how his guardians had brought it to him, he was grateful for it just the same.  
  
The four men lapsed into silence, punctuated only by Malachi's steady breathing and the occasional pulse of loud music from another part of the house. Each continued to chew, gnaw on, and munch his piece of pizza, sipping their Coke (or, in most cases, beer) at regular intervals. Mamoru watched them in their routines - Neff's ingredient picking, Zory's delicate nibble, Jed's...well, inhaling was a good way to put it.  
  
He wondered if he would get to see this again, this simple, quiet kind of moment. He wondered if he would come back from the final battle, whether he would be with them, all together, in this way. Was this the last time he'd ever see them? Would his phonecall with Usako be the last one he would ever have? Was he wrong to do this?  
  
No, he couldn't have doubts now. He had to be certain, before he snuck out right under their noses, to fight on his own. He had to be sure he could break their trust, maybe even die, in order to keep them safe.  
  
"Man, we'll have to do this all the time, when this clone shit is all over," Neff said, taking the last swig out of his beer and crushing the can with one hand. "Malachi will have to be conscious, too. But we can sit around and drink beer and be manly men and all that. Well, Zory can be a womanly man."  
  
Zory slapped him on the back of the head, with the hand that was not occupied with pizza. "Can't you just eat without mocking me?"  
  
"Zory, there is absolutely nothing I can do without mocking you. Period. Did you know I mock you while I'm on the toilet?"  
  
"Frankly, I could have done without that," the blonde muttered, returning to his food. "-Especially- while I'm trying to keep this greasy mess in my stomach."  
  
Watching them, Mamoru could barely help the grin that crept onto his face. Outside, the rain drummed steadily against the window pane. Somewhere beyond Malachi's bedroom door, muffled peals of laughter could be heard. Jed shifted in his seat, endlessly restless, as he gnawed at a piece of crust. "Yeah. We'll have to do this again, won't we?"  
  
The black-haired man twirled the can of Coke around in his fingers. It would be alright. They would always be here, together, just like this. Even if he wasn't here with them. He wouldn't mind leaving them so much if he had to, knowing that they would still be here, teasing and having fun and generally being comfortable in one another's company.  
  
He took another gulp of the carbonated sugar water, reveling in the caffeine. "Oh, thanks for the change of clothes, Neff. You've no idea how nice it is to be wearing something that's not disintegrating."  
  
"Any time. I should maybe do some laundry so you actually have more than one outfit at your disposal. At least until we can get you some new clothes."  
  
The moment those words had exited the brunette's mouth, a strange sort of sound, halfway between a gasp and a squeal, erupted from Zory. "Prince, we have to take you shopping!"  
  
Jed promptly choked on an olive. Neff barely paused in the middle of dissecting his slice of pizza long enough to groan and shake his head. Zory was grinning at Mamoru with an expectant sort of glee. Mamoru, for his part, could only swallow his food, not entirely certain of whether he could trust that devious gleam in Zory's eyes. "Shopping? What..."  
  
"It'll be perfect! We'll get you a whole new wardrobe! Let's see, you'll need shirts, pants, shoes--some nice ones; those look like they're half melted--at least two or three jackets... Oh! We can't forget accessories! You'd look fabulous in gold, Prince..."  
  
"Is he serious?" Mamoru muttered to Neff as the little blonde continued to rave about Mamoru's apparent fashion makeover, jabbering a mile a minute about colors and seasons and brands.   
  
"Most likely. Zory's favorite thing in the world is buying clothes. And doing hair. And all that other femmy stuff that I try to avoid."  
  
"Zory, you are not subjecting him to the horror that is The Gap," Jed broke in on Zory's raving. "That's just plain cruelty, man."  
  
"There's nothing wrong with The Gap," the effeminate blonde pouted.  
  
"$80 for a tacky scarf. You can't tell me that's not frightening."  
  
"They do have something called sales, you know."  
  
"Forget it. You're not turning him into some lame ultra-preppy granola-eater. The guy has enough social problems as it is."  
  
"Well thank you, Jed."   
  
"Any time."  
  
While Zory and Jed launched into an argument that had something to do with style (though Mamoru could not be sure, being that they were now referring to a myriad of slang terms and store names that might as well have been a foreign language), he found himself wondering how in the world he was going to break it to Zory that, as much as it sounded like it would be fun to go on an exhausting shopping spree with him, it was not exactly on his list of priorities for things to run himself into debt with.   
  
He had carefully budgeted his stay in the United States--his education was mostly covered by scholarships, but living overseas was expensive, after all. He had never planned to have his dorm burned to the ground and have all of his possessions destroyed in the process. As it was, he already had to replace every one of his text books, which were currently very nice piles of ash sitting on top of a larger pile of ash that was once his desk, and surrounded by the charred skeleton of his former dorm. He did not want to think about how much that in itself would set him back--his calculator alone would cost him a few hundred dollars. There were the other supplies, too--notebooks, paper, and let's not forget about that wonderfully expensive laptop computer that had been right next to his bed. And then there were the normal expenses--food, his stay in the frat house (because even though he was just a nice addition to Malachi's bedroom, he would definitely not be living here out of charity), transportation, and the many other pricey things that he did not even want to think about. And of course, what went without saying was the very large sum of money that was stowed away for his visits back to Japan--he would sooner live off of creamed corn for the next four months than sacrifice his visits with his Usako. A part-time job was out of the question; being a full-time pre-med student was far too demanding to add work in there, unless he dropped some classes (which would only cause more problems, because it would take him an extra semester to make them up). When it came right down to it, he would be lucky if he could afford a couple shirts from the nearest Wal-Mart to tide him over for the rest of the semester.  
  
"...And we'll have to get you some sweaters! Winter's coming, and you can't be unprepared for any kind of weather, after all..."  
  
"Zory, that sounds great and all, but I really can't afford all that."  
  
"No one can afford all that," Jed snickered. "Zory's just being zealous. We'll be monitoring him to make sure he stays at a more sane level of spending."  
  
"Even so, I don't think I'll be able to afford any sort of shopping trip at the moment. I didn't exactly budget for my dorm to get reduced to nothing." He kept his tone light, but as he stared down at his Coke can, he felt their concerned glances, heavy on the back of his neck.  
  
Jed shrugged. "Well, that's no problem. If the issue's just about money, we can easily help you out there."  
  
"No! I am not taking money from any of you, especially for something so frivolous."  
  
"Zory's fashion sense aside, Prince, I wouldn't really call putting some clothes on your back 'frivolous.'" Neff clicked open another can of beer. "I mean, you're more than welcome to wear my clothes all semester, but that could get awkward. I only own three pairs of socks."  
  
"I'll figure something out. It's no big deal, I just... I have to replace all my books and other supplies first."  
  
"Prince, we're not going to let you scrounge for money all semester. Besides," Zory added jokingly, "I can't be seen in public with you if you're walking around in Neff's dirty old shirts."  
  
Mamoru shook his head stubbornly. "Thanks for the offer, but I really can't accept it." He had never accepted handouts before, and he was not about to start now.  
  
"Prince, all those other guys who lost their dorm rooms with yours, what do you think they're doing right now?" Neff's chestnut eyes watched him questioningly.  
  
"Probably not taking money from their friends."  
  
"No. They're running home to their parents and rich grandparents and siblings. They're depending on their families."  
  
Mamoru was not seeing his point. "I don't know if you've noticed, Neff, but I don't really have one of those."  
  
Jed's expression changed to one of mock hurt. "What would you call us, then?"  
  
"I...It's not that I don't..." Dammit, they just had to make this complicated, didn't they? "I didn't mean that I don't consider you a family, but you're already going out of your way for me--"  
  
"Prince, the only thing we've 'gone out of our way' to do was drive to the soccer field and get you when...earlier," Zory ammended carefully. "So Malachi's sleeping on the couch. If you told him to sleep in the cellar, he would. Besides, I seriously doubt you're letting him get away with that without a fight."  
  
"Well, it -is- his bed. He should get to sleep in it."  
  
"We already have enough food to feed the entire football team, some of whom actually live here." Jed devoured another slice of pizza in approximately two bites. "Feeding one more person is hardly a financial burden when you have twenty people like -me- to feed. Besides, you never eat."  
  
Mamoru glared at him. "I eat plenty of food, under normal circumstances."  
  
"Prince, Top Ramen is not 'plenty of food.'"  
  
"Hey, sometimes I'll get a salad from the cafeteria."  
  
"Which does -not- count as food," Zory snorted. "Come on, Prince. You're acting like we've all volunteered to sleep on wooden cots in the closet, eating nothing but beef jerky and Saltines and having one set of clothing between us. Not that we wouldn't, if it came down to it, but it hasn't and we won't. We have supplies here that you can borrow, and heck, there are enough sons of lawyers and socialites in this house, I'm sure we could take up a collection to help you out."  
  
The blonde's expression softened, and he gave Mamoru a serious look before he could try to protest. "You can't run around starving and naked all semester, just because you're more focused on your textbooks than you are on your wellbeing. We won't let you do that to yourself, and I can guarantee that Malachi won't, either."  
  
"But..." Mamoru was losing this battle, and he knew it. "I'm just not used to depending on people. If I needed something, I'd get it myself. There was never anyone around to help me. It was 'fend for yourself or die.'"  
  
"That was then, and this is now, Prince," Neff said. "You have people who help you. We -want- to help you, not just because it's our duty, but because you're our friend. That's what friends do."  
  
The prince sighed, exasperated. They just wouldn't give up, would they? They were determined to support him financially, even though he would do just fine with the occasional instant meal and a few discounted shirts. It was like their earlier battles, to a certain extent. They were trying to make up for all their mistakes, prove that they really could protect and support him. At least this kind of support didn't involve grievous bodily harm.  
  
They were all watching him expectantly. He gave another defeated sigh. "I don't even know why I argue with you guys. I can never win."  
  
Before he could get another word out, a ponytailed blur had already tackled him in an unexpected hug. "See? You shouldn't even bother trying to talk us out of it. This is so great! Now I can get you all the clothes that I wanted, but wouldn't fit in my closet! Prince, I promise you that by the end of this semester I will have made you a fashion diva."  
  
Mamoru gave him something of a smile, not entirely certain that he wanted to be Zory's new personal project. But the blonde looked so excited about the matter, positively bouncing in front of him, how could he say no? They were just clothes, after all.  
  
His family. They had called themselves his family. Funny, he had always wondered what it would be like to have one of those...  
  
"Neff, you ass, you drank all the beer!"  
  
"It's not my fault you drink so bloody slow. First come, first serve."  
  
...though whatever familial fantasies he'd dreamed up in his childhood had never really involved drunken fratboys. But he wouldn't complain, no sir. Family was family, and crude, sloppy, rowdy though they were, they were –his-.  
  
"Relax, guys. I think I just heard Philip come home from a beer run. His precious Mandy the Mac Truck is practically as decrepit as Bertha."  
  
"I just thought that was the generator crapping out again."  
  
"Dude, beer! I'll be right back!"  
  
And Mamoru was going to protect what was his.  
  
"Do you think Malachi would mind if I borrowed his shower?" the Prince asked, as he watched Jed disappear out the door, in search of his booze fix.  
  
Neff snorted, though whether it was at Mamoru or Jed, no one was sure. "Prince, Malachi wouldn't mind if you suddenly decided to take up the accordion and started playing right on top of his head. Besides, you wouldn't want to go too far. He might wake up and demand to watch. Just to make sure you weren't drowning."  
  
"Yes, because that's a mighty big possibility." Mamoru rolled his eyes. "Exchange Student Dies In Shower; 'Couldn't Tell Which End Was Up.' Authorities Blame Destructive Superhero Lifestyle."  
  
"And here we've been wasting time protecting you from clones. Should've realized the danger of bathroom fixtures. Do you need us to make sure the shampoo isn't lethal, as well?"   
  
"Thanks, but I think I'll take my chances." Mamoru cast a glance at Malachi. He had barely moved throughout the entire exchange, his hair trailing aross the pillows in little silver waves, deep in his state of unconsciousness despite the uncomfortable-looking sling that held his arm in place. "Do you think he'll wake up if I go take a shower? I don't want him freaking out that I'm gone just because I needed some level of personal hygeine. I sort of promised him that I'd stay here."  
  
Zory smiled as he cleaned up the empty pizza box and various beer and Coke cans lying around. "I'll stick around and cover for you. If he wakes up, I'll maintain that you threatened me with your overwhelmingly good looks."  
  
"Yes, I'm sure I look especially wonderful right now, bruises and all."  
  
"Well purple is definitely your color," the blonde said with a grin.  
  
The black-haired Prince shook his head as he rose to his feet. Everything was working strangely to his advantage now. Usagi loved him again, and everything in Tokyo had been taken care of. The house was marginally quiet tonight, though just active enough that no one outside his own Shitennou had given him much thought. Malachi was finally taking a break from being the Prince's personal bodyguard. The clones had given him a long enough break to take care of everything, and as an added bonus get himself some food. And now, with Zory covering for him, he had no worries about his guardian waking up and going on a frenzied rampage the moment he stepped outside of the room. It was so easy. So perfect. Just as though it had been planned.  
  
He pushed open the bathroom door, flicking on the light.  
  
"Watch out for that shower now, Prince," Neff quipped. "Wouldn't want to lead a rescue mission in there."  
  
Mamoru threw a smile back at them. "Thanks, Neff. I'll be careful." And he intended to be, though he was not thinking of showers when he said it.  
  
He closed the door behind him, hearing the click of the lock that meant he would have plenty of time to plan his escape. Fortunately, the bathroom had a window with easy access to the courtyard, though he wasn't particularly excited about going through his third window in as many days. But at least this time, it would be open.  
  
The prince threw his pile of clothes on the floor as he transformed, tuxedo replacing his new, (relatively) clean clothes. The shower door was already open, and he leaned in to turn the water on. If Malachi was satisfied that he hadn't gone anywhere, and his Mam-O-Meter didn't go off if he found himself in trouble, Mamoru would have at least half an hour before alarm bells went off.  
  
As hot, steaming water pour furiously out of the spout, he pulled up the blinds on the small window, and flipped the locks. The rain had let up momentarily, which was fortunate – the last thing he wanted to do was go into battle with soggy underwear. Especially since he'd just changed it recently.  
  
The window had been swollen shut – it probably didn't get much use, Mamoru thought – and it took him a few minutes to pry it up from the sill. But he finally got it open, and with a little bit of awkward climbing, he was outside in the dark, standing on the wet pavement.  
  
Mamoru turned for one last look at the frat house. I'm sorry, guys. This is for your own good. I couldn't live with myself if you got hurt again. You can yell at me when I get back, but I have to do this. I have to fight for you. It's just how I do things.  
  
The prince took a deep breath, steadying himself. Resolutely, he nodded, and then took off in the direction of the Humanities building.  
  
I have to fight for you. And I will.  
  
---  
  
Our apologies for the time gap between chapters. Your friendly neighborhood Authoresses have been getting their asses kicked by work and commuting, respectively. We promise, Chapter 9 will be far more expedient. Just remember, lovelies - at least it's not taking us a whole year!  
  
Spirit-hime and AngelAnne 


	10. Chapter 9

Bleed (Just to Know You're Alive)  
Chapter 9 

_anything in italics is thought  
_

* * *

Under any other circumstances, it might have been amusing to think that malicious evil clones were presently residing almost directly beneath his Psychology 101 class. But Mamoru was not particularly amused by anything at the moment, least of all the idea that chubby old Professor O'Reilly could be in for a rather interesting surprise when a clone comes blasting through his lecture hall come Monday morning. Mostly because Mamoru did not want to think of how his grades would suffer because of it. 

The black-haired prince heaved a sigh as he glanced around the dimly-lit halls of the Humanities building, blue eyes scanning for anything that might leap out of the shadows brandishing sparkly oversized sticks. Malachi had probably been right; the statue in the underground cave was just a decoy. But it was the only lead he really had at the moment, and if it was a decoy, he could get the clones' attention by walking right into their trap, at the very least. It was not the wisest move, sure, but he much preferred stumbling into a trap sooner rather than later. At least this way, he was mildly prepared.

A few strands of yellow tape were all that served to block off the charred and crumbling remains of a certain closet. _Goodness, did I really survive that blast?_ The bit of blackened wood and ash that must have been the mop that had been sitting right next to him now leaned remorsefully against one wall, hardly recognizable from its original shape.

It was amazing how many times he had avoided death in the last few days. He was hardly the most resilient, macho of men, although he did seem to have a knack for being resurrected at the brink of death. And not just when dealing with these clones - it had always been that way. He specifically recalled the fight with the Dead Moon Circus, where he had spent so many days and nights coughing up blood, Elysian crumbling underneath him as the spasmed, unawares. Not counting the times he had -actually- been killed - the Dark Kingdom and Galaxia sprang to mind - he'd had his ass whooped more times than he could count. Yet here he was, staring down a charred vent, about to dive headlong into what very well could be his last battle ever.

Mamoru wasn't quite sure what had him so concerned. It was, perhaps, the fact that it was the first major battle he would fight on his own. Any time Sailor Moon had gone up against an evil queen, he had been there, right along with the Senshi (the fight with Galaxia excluded). There had always been friends to lean back on. But he wasn't about to let the Shitennou get them beaten to the ground again so soon - or ever again, if he had a say in it. But that meant it was just him, a handful of magical roses, and the Golden Crystal against whatever man, woman, blob, or twenty-legged sentient Jello squid really wanted to see him dead. As powerful as the Golden Crystal had become, it was nowhere near as strong as the Ginzuishou. Sometimes, even the Ginzuishou alone wasn't enough to defeat the bad guys. And if that was the case this time around, he was sure screwed.

_But I have to do it._ Mamoru stepped over the pieces of yellow police tape. _I can't just sit idly by while the Shitennou lick their wounds and wait for the next time we get our collective ass handed to us. I have to fight back now, or it will only get worse. And if I have to look at Malachi wince one more time, I'm going to start putting my hands through walls. _

The burned hole that had once been a vent was far more ominous now than it had been earlier, when he'd gone hurtling through it head-over-tea kettle. Maybe it was the lack of light, or the general Cajun cooked atmosphere of the whole closet. Or maybe it was the knot of anxiety that kept gnawing away at his stomach. Whatever it was, he didn't have time to dwell on it. He had a fight to pick.

Mamoru took a breath, pushing back the memory of how sickening his last journey down this charred little rabbit hole had been, and steeled himself. Then, before he could change his mind, he shoved his feet through, and dropped.

The tumbling plunge down the oversized air vent was not quite as jarring, but almost. Fortunately, he was transformed this time around, and other than a brief but alarming moment in which he nearly strangled himself with his own cape, he found the descent significantly less uncomfortable in his more powerful form.

He landed on his feet, Senshi reflexes dropping him into a crouch before his mind could even register it. He cast a quick glance around the cave. It was just as he had found it before--a large, cylindrical room, all of stone, a curved archway tunneling in every direction from the walls around him. And to his left, that same purplish glow emanating from one doorway in particular.

One thing was different, however. A few feet from where he landed, slumped dismally on the hard, strangely smooth floor, was an ordinary grocery bag. Mamoru blinked at the strangely out-of-place object for a few seconds before he suddenly recognized it. He reached over to pull it open--sure enough, it was filled with notepads and pens and other essential school supplies.

Malachi had given him that bag. Was it really only yesterday that that happened? Only yesterday that he did not have any guardians at all, that Malachi was nothing more to him than a kind-hearted stranger who happened to know a few too many of Mamoru's secrets? And it was only the day before that that he met all of them for the first time. But that was crazy--he had always known them, or at least it seemed that way. Even if he could not, for the life of him, list their favorite colors, or when their birthdays were, or whether they liked their eggs fried or scrambled, he felt like he knew them better than he had ever known anyone. Strange, how they could just appear in his life one day, and have it feel so right that it was as though they had been there all along.

He rifled through the contents of the bag carefully, as though there were small, vicious creatures in it that were waiting to take his fingers off. The Shitennou, even in their unawakened forms, remembered much more than they gave themselves credit for. He thought back to his other battles - whenever he'd given an order, demanded that someone leave to get help or remove themselves from harm's way, they did it. Except for Malachi; but Mamoru recalled that Kunzite had always been a pain when it came to protecting his own hide for the sake of the Prince. He couldn't put his finger on exactly how he knew - he just accepted it as part of a greater consciousness, something he gained now that he and the Shitennou were reunited.

And Malachi had insisted to take care of him, first when he'd gone stumbling around in the night, burned half to death and exhausted beyond reason, and again when he'd spent the night slumbering halfheartedly in the cafeteria. Malachi had wanted him to be comfortable and safe, even though they had no connection outside a chance run-in only two days earlier. Two days. Perhaps the longest two days of his life, or at least the days he could remember. But Malachi had wanted to stay with him, even after he spilled his secret, even after crazy clones tracked his every move and made it incredibly for a med student to actually do anything in the way of learning.

Mamoru blinked abruptly, coming back to reality. He would have time for reflection later - or so he hoped. For the time being, there was one last clone to track down, and one Major Baddie to confront and, hopefully, avoid irreparable maiming from.

He gently placed a handful of pens back inside the bag and rolled up the top, as though protecting some precious object. And maybe he was, really. He wanted very much to be able to use those pens that Malachi had given him. They looked like good pens.

"I'll be back for you later," he promised, rising to his feet. And without any further deviation, he turned and headed for the purplish light, and whatever destiny it may hold.

The statue was exactly how he remembered it. Beryl reared her ugly head, smiling viciously at the energy pulsating between her hands like a ravenous animal, the whole statue glowing faintly from within. The purple glow was all that lit the room, and the vast cavern was filled with a sort of eerie quality, with strange shadows standing stark against the light.

Everything was the same as before, except for one very great detail. At the foot of the statue, lounging with all the grace of a buzzard in the moonlight, was a sailor-suited imposter that he had dearly hoped he would never see again. She swung her feet childishly, leaning back against the hem of Beryl's dress to see the horrid face towering far above her. At the sound of Mamoru's footsteps, she glanced down at him with a languid sort of gaze, which would have been almost attractive if it were not so completely disturbing. Then she gave a gasp of joy, sitting forward on the edge of her seat with a rustle of broken feathers.

"Mamochan, you've come back to me!"

"It looks that way." The disgust in Mamoru's voice was palpable, and if Lunette had been any less evil, she probably would have winced. "But don't expect this to be like the last time."

"Oh, I would never do that," the blonde said sweetly, folding her hands on top of her bony delicate knees. She looked up at him, eyelashes fluttering. "This time, I'm going to kill you."

"That's what you--" The sentence couldn't be finished. Lunette sprung to her feet with lightning speed, and before Mamoru could even think to dodge, the Eternal Tier was pointed at his chest and, before you could say Starlight Honeymoon Therapy Kiss, a powerful blast of energy hit him straight-on in the chest and sent him flying backwards, out into the dark hallway.

Mamoru's reaction could only be summed up by a very eloquent "ow." Before he could even sit up, the business end of the Tier smashed against the side of his face, slamming him against the cold stone ground. Stars exploded behind his eyelids, pain pulsating so much beneath his skin that he could not even feel the blood that was already trickling out of a cut on his cheek. A pair of gloved hands snatched him up by the collar and shoved him against the wall, pinning him with far more force than a body of that size should have had.

"Now, Mamochan, here's your options." The clone leaned uncomfortably close to his face, her voice suddenly soft and husky. "Option one, we can do this nice and gentle. You do what I want, and you get any little thing your heart so desires. Or option two, we can do this the hard way. And you don't want to do it the hard way, Mamochan. I play rough."

"So I've noticed," Mamoru spat, getting a little blood on the clone's face - somehow, he'd managed to bite the inside of his cheek when he'd hit the ground. With a burst of speed, he tucked his leg up underneath him, and placed a very scientific and very painful kick in Lunette's crotch. The jolt of surprise and pain caused Lunette to lose her grip on Mamoru's collar as she swore violently, falling sharply on her bottom as her center of balance skewed.

Mamoru smirked, despite himself. "You'll notice, bitch, that I can play rough, too. Tuxedo Mirage!" His hand lashed out in front of him, almost of its on accord, and Lunette barely managed to roll away from the blast before it could turn her into dust. She shouted something about what he could do with himself, provided he had a cucumber and a large amount of flexibility, before she sprang to her feet and blasted with her Tier again.

The Prince jumped sharply to his left, his cape catching most of the energy. Most of the bottom was simply burned away, but he decided that it was really only decorative, anyway, and best left for dramatic entrances, of which he'd already made one. Of sorts. He followed her attack by rushing forward, first punching her square in the jaw, then grabbing one of her long odango tails and using it to spin her as one spins a top, except quite a bit more violently. She shrieked loudly as she flew, spinning, into one of the sides of the chamber, catching most of the fall with her face.

"Mamochan," she gasped tearily from the floor, "that hurt!"

"Ask me if I care," he growled.

"How can you hurt me like that, Mamochan?" The suddenly too-innocent girl pulled herself onto her knees, daintily wiping away tears with a gloved hand.

The black-haired Prince knew that it would be in his best interests to strike now, while she was down, but he was never one for taking cheap shots. Especially against a sobbing young girl who, if he didn't know better, would have seemed as harmless as a kitten. He was just all knightly like that.

"Get off the floor, Lunette."

"But Mamochan--"

"Get up and fight!" Dammit, why was she just sitting there? He felt like some schoolyard bully, towering over a pathetic little victim. If only she wouldn't look so darn helpless, he wouldn't have to think twice about blasting her to pieces. If only she didn't look so much like Usako, alone and crying and triggering every damn protective instinct in his body, all tingling in the back of his brain and screaming at him to protect the girl and rush to her side and make sure nothing bad would ever happen to her again, and--

"Stop it, Lunette! Just stop it!" Mamoru shook his head sharply. "Enough with your little games!"

The girl sobbed softly into her hands. "Stop what?"

"I'm through being fooled by you!" he shouted, his shaking hands forming white-knuckled fists. "You played your card once, and it worked. I don't have any illusions about you anymore. Get up and fight me like you're supposed to!"

But Lunette only continued to cry, pitiful, like a kicked puppy. Occasionally she would throw in "I love you, Mamochan" or "why are you hurting me?" but he continued to stand firm, clenching and unclenching his fists as many times as it took to keep him where he stood and resist Lunette's most deadly weapon. The Tier he could block and dodge, but not this emotional torture. He never liked to see a lady cry, and someone who, for all intents and purposes, looked like his Usako, made it all the worse. He had to console her--he hadn't meant to hurt her, it was only a misunderstanding--

and suddenly he couldn't see Lunette, but Zory, his face practically imploded after he'd scraped it nearly the full length of the courtyard, because of him, because of -him- and what he did for this woman, and Zory was so ready to die, but he wouldn't let go, he wouldn't let his Prince get hurt again even when his Prince had hurt him so badly--

Mamoru screamed, running for Lunette like he meant to pummel her to the ground. The clone stopped her waterworks for a second, petrified that he was going to do just that, but at the last second, he changed his path. Mamoru swung wildly for the statue that provided the only source of light in the whole room, and his fist took a large chunk of crystal out of Beryl's left arm.

He looked down at Lunette, the picture of hatred and contempt, and resisted the urge to slap her across the face. She looked up at him, clearly fearful, -really- fearful. The Prince tilted his head further, until pitch black bangs hid almost all of the hard, angry glint in his eyes. "You don't -own- me, bitch. You did once. And you never will again."

For a few moments, the girl looked positively petrified, too frightened to even remember to sob anymore. And then, as though the old incarnation of herself had returned to possess the clone, her lips turned up in a defiant little smirk, and all traces of fear faded from her eyes. "Such strong words, Prince. It's so unlike you. And in front of a lady, no less." Her grip slowly tightened on the Tier by her side. "I suppose you're right. Enough of the foreplay." Without a breath of warning, she swung the oversized wand smack into his stomach, only to bring it up and clock him in the temple. Mamoru staggered back against the statue, caught off guard by her sudden mood swing, but before she could take another swing at him with her makeshift baseball bat, he lashed out with his fist and caught the girl square in the face.

The clone stumbled backwards, reeling from the blow, but regained her balance just in time to avoid another punch of the same kind. She swung with her Tier again, but he blocked it with his arm, and when she tried an uppercut, he lurched to the left and simply swept her feet out from underneath her with his own. Now flat on her back, Lunette writhed on the floor before clobbering Mamoru in the knees with the business end of her Tier.

Yelping in pain, he crashed to the floor, just as a boot came down and crushed hard against his ribcage. But his arms were still free, and just as Lunette bared her perfect teeth and dug her heel down through his clothes and through quite a few layers of skin, she received a face full of golden energy that threw her high into the air, shrieking and wailing as the pure light burned everything it touched.

Hidden almost entirely in the shadows, a pair of feet, in sharp black dress shoes, were visible and waiting behind Lunette as soon as she landed. The left foot kicked the clone sharply on her shoulder, even as she writhed in pain, and a flat, toneless voice said, "Get up and fight, Lunette. Your job is not done."

Mamoru started at the voice and the new entity in the room. Something cold fell into his stomach - did those feet, and that voice, belong to the conductor to this awful orchestra? Was that time nearly at hand already?

He didn't have time to think. A blast of energy hit him practically from the toes up; Lunette was already standing, her charred face looking down at him like a rodent in a trap. He flopped across the floor like a fish on a reel and finally hit the far wall once the pink blast dissipated. The room spun, bright flashes of pain lit his vision until he couldn't pick out any shapes - not the Beryl statue, not Lunette, not the marble walls or the floor or anything but sharp white and shadows. But he could now say, with certainty, that he now understood how a youma must have felt.

The clone flicked a slightly flame-broiled pigtail over her shoulder, stalking towards Mamoru in her white high-heeled boots. The black-haired man struggled to regain his senses, but he could not see two inches in front of him, and any attempts to sit himself up were futile. Something warm trickled down behind his ear and into his shirt. _Shit, I think I hit my head again. I'm gonna have to get checked for concussions after this._

"Poor Mamochan," the clone said silkily, standing over her prey. "Here you came all the way down here just to get rid of me, and all you did was get yourself hurt."

She knelt down next to the Prince's prone form, leaning delicately on the Tier like a staff. "Wouldn't you like me to make it better, Mamochan? I can make you stop hurting. I can make it all better..." A gloved hand reached towards him, intent on stroking his face. Before she could reach him, however, his own hand came up and smacked hers sharply away.

"Don't -touch- me," he growled. _I can't see you, bitch, but I can feel you._

The clone smiled prettily. "Still being stubborn, Mamochan? Still clinging to the dream that some girl across the ocean will continue to love you and remain faithful to you after all this time, while you're here in a foreign country, all by yourself?"

"I'm not by myself..."

"I don't see anyone here protecting you. All I see is you and me, and this silly little issue of you fighting against what's good for you."

"You're not good for me. You're only out to hurt me. And you'd hurt my guardians, too." Mamoru tried to sit up again, but nausea hit him like a freight train, and he was forced to remain on his back. "So I'm fighting by myself. But I'm not alone."

"That's what you want to think, isn't it?" Lunette dodged an angry slap as her hand came to rest on his cheek, and as her fingers trailed up and down his cheek, already dirty and bruised, his hands felt cast out of lead. He tried to turn his head away, but no matter how he thrashed, her hand never moved. "It's so sweet of you to protect them. But they should be protecting -you-. And where are they now? Safe in their beds, caring not for a moment that you're fighting all alone, because you'll save them like you always do.

"But -I'm- here now, and I can make all of your pain go away." She snaked one hand down his neck, her white glove smearing the blood all around the back of his head. He hissed in pain, but she didn't notice - or if she did, she didn't much care. "Your Usako isn't here. Your friends aren't here. But I am. Don't you want me to help you, Mamochan? Don't you want me to love you?"

"No..." He was trapped. He could not move anymore. Everything she was saying was slowly, painstakingly becoming truth, no matter how fiercely his mind protested it.

"Don't you want me, Mamochan?"

"I... I want..." Memories were fading from his mind, thoughts and desires becoming warped and twisted into something unlike their original forms. He struggled to move, to shove her away from him, anything to make the clone's influence stop.

"Well?"

"I... want..."

_Mamochan!_

"...Usa."

Breathing her name was like breathing fresh air for the first time. The weight began to lift from his limbs, his mind began to clear.

The clone's face contorted with rage, and the once-tender gloved hand swung suddenly in a fierce slap across his face. "How can you still cling to that snotty little bitch?"

The moment the words had escaped her lips, Lunette realized her mistake. Mamoru's eyes shot from blue to gold in less than a second, the molten glow flashing like a sudden flame in the depths of his irises. Before the clone could even shield herself, she was launched high into the air, golden light cracking around her in a terrifying, burning whirlwind. Mamoru sat up, the wound on the back of his head rapidly healing itself, and glared across the cavern at the screaming girl.

"Insult my fiancé again," he sneered. "I dare you."

"Now that's what I like to see, Mamochan!" Surprisingly enough, Lunette was still on her feet, though now her fuku was scorched black from shoulder to waistline, and some of it had simply turned to crisp and fallen away - especially in some, ahem, revealing places. One of her odango had fallen out completely, leaving a cascade of dingy blonde hair across one shoulder. Her face was burned, bruised and black with soot. But she was still standing, and she was grinning as she swung her Tier around for a retaliatory blast. "Starlight Honeymoon--"

But in the time it took her to blink, Mamoru was on his feet, and cane at the ready - where had that thing been -before?- - he sprang forward and knocked the Tier out of her grip. She tried to backhand him, but the prince turned his cane upward and blocked the hand a hair's breadth from his face. Not to be foiled, Lunette punched him squarely in the gut and Mamoru stumbled. He only took a few paces to recover, and as Lunette bent over to get her Tier, he wasted no time with a "Tuxedo Mirage!" of his own.

With all the grace of cow taking a swan-dive, Lunette threw herself to the floor, just in time to watch the golden blast take off more of the Beryl statue's bust. It disintegrated into fine, shimmering dust, and her head, now without a neck, clattered to the ground loudly.

"That's what will happen to you when I get done," Mamoru said slowly, heaving to catch his breath. But his eyes were sharp, focused with anger and adrenaline. "So help me God, I am going to crush you for what you and your little friends have been doing to me."

Lunette propped herself up on her elbows, shaking a few blonde curls from her smudged face. "Strong words, Mamochan. But I don't think you can live up to them, without your precious Shitennou here."

"I've fought without them before. I can do it again. And now, I have the Golden Crystal to protect me."

"Oh, please," Lunette scoffed, shaking her head scornfully as she got to her feet. "That little light bulb isn't going to be enough to defeat me. I have the power to corrupt you, Mamochan. I'm the biggest chink in your armor. Whether you like it or not, I'm the puppeteer holding your strings. And trust me - I -will- cut them."

"Yeah? Try it." Apparently taking his words to heart, the girl leapt up, gloved fist swinging for his face. Mamoru neatly dodged out of her path and caught her by the shoulders, hurling the clone into the nearest wall. Lunette crashed into the unyielding stone with what should have been bone-shattering force, and landed in a heap on the floor. The remains of one charred buzzard-like wing sort of burst at the seams, littering the floor with piles of burned, broken feathers. Undaunted, she was back on her feet before the black-haired prince could get anywhere near her, and she swung at Mamoru with cat-like ferocity.

He tried to dodge again, but Lunette would not be avoided this time, and a punch to his jaw was immediately followed by a knee in the stomach, forcing him to double over in pain. The momentary lapse was all the clone needed to clobber him in the head and sweep his feet out from underneath him, throwing Mamoru to the ground. Winded and slightly dazed, he struggled on the ground while Lunette went in search of her Tier, a scant few meters away.

Once the black-haired Prince could see straight again, the first thing that came into his vision was the blonde, poised and ready to strike with her weapon. Mamoru rolled out of the way just in time to dodge yet another impalement by the sparkly toy. Bits of the floor went flying as the narrow end of the Tier crashed into it, leaving a sizeable dent in its wake.

Using his momentum, Mamoru rolled himself up into a crouching position, and sprung up like a jack-in-the-box to tackle Lunette as soon as she made a move towards him. They both collapsed on the ground in a heap, Lunette pinned under the prince's much greater body mass, arms conveniently pressed behind her back and impossible to move. She growled and struggled, trying to maneuver her feet to kick him away, but he pressed hard with his arm on her collarbone, and she winced at the pressure.

But just as he was going to punch her straight in the face, perhaps dealing the blow that would knock her out cold and leave her vulnerable to one last blast of energy, she looked up at him, sapphire blue eyes quickly filling with tears. "Mamochan," she whispered - all she could manage, as he was pressing most of the air out of her lungs. "Mamochan, please...please don't...I love you..."

He shook his head violently, as though sheer force could stop her. But try as he might, he suddenly felt heavier, as though he couldn't support his own weight. The force holding Lunette down was weakening; how could he be so cruel to this girl? True, she had done some awful things to him, but it wasn't right to--

_"Would you die for me, Mamochan?" _

"In a heartbeat."

"Do you promise?"

SNAP! Mamoru came back to himself as though someone had clubbed him in the head. This was not a girl to be pitied. This was a killing machine, after his blood, who had hurt his friends and tarnished his Usako's name. And she would not get mercy; not this time.

"Mamochan..." the girl squeaked, her face contorted in pain, "please... I... I'm sorry..."

The black-haired man growled, pressing down with all his might and willing himself not to hear her voice, not to see the helplessness in her eyes, not to feel her tiny, frail body beneath his. But when he once again moved his hand to strike her, he found that it refused to obey him, that his whole arm had turned to lead at his side and he was physically unable to harm her. The clone flailed frantically beneath him as what was left of her oxygen was quickly being depleted beneath the heavy arm on her windpipe. If he just stayed here... if he just remained as he was, all he needed to do was wait, and that would be the end of it. It could be as easy as that. The girl--no, the clone, he reminded himself--was making choking sounds, and though Mamoru tried his best not to look at her, all he could see in his mind's eye was wave upon wave of golden curls and sparkling blue eyes brimming with tears.

He jumped up suddenly, releasing her from his grasp. He couldn't do it--not like that.

Lunette choked and coughed, clutching her Tier to her chest like a lifeline. She sat up cautiously, her chest heaving beneath the shredded remains of her fuku, only to come face-to-face with the pointed end of Mamoru's cane. "Get up," he growled. "We're finishing this."

"But Mamochan--"

The sharp end of his cane was only a hair's breadth from the end of Lunette's nose. "I said get up," Mamoru said, the edge in his voice so cold and sharp that it sounded just as damaging as his weapon.

Without a second thought, Lunette was on her feet, Tier at the ready for an attack as her tears - legitimate, for once - began to dry. "Starlight Honeymoon Therapy Kiss!"

But the attack sailed away harmlessly as Mamoru threw himself to the ground, and he listened to the sound of crumpling marble as yet another support pillar was destroyed. Absently, he considered the possibility of dying not by the clone's hands, but a cave-in, and the thought was so absurd that he had to fight back a giggle that threatened to percolate. All this work, just to have a Dark Kingdom lair collapse on him?

"Starlight Honeymoon--"

"Tuxedo Mirage!" Clearly, Lunette was as focused on the battle's end as he was. But Mamoru would not allow her the opportunity of kicking him while he was down. The flare of golden light knocked her own power up into the ceiling, and the clone shrieked as a huge piece burned away and came crashing down, mere inches from her shoes. Charred dirt clattered loudly to the floor, echoing in the near silence of their strategic stalemate.

Mamoru sat up carefully, watching Lunette glare down at him with an intensity and hatred that he matched, if not outshone. There had to be a way to end this battle quickly, before the base came down around them. They clearly weren't getting anywhere with this "smash-deflect-smash again" strategy, but Lunette had something he didn't - the power to manipulate. Or didn't he...?

It was a long shot. He was a terrible liar, and if she saw through his ruse, she'd be at just the right range to blow his head off. But if he was right, if he could manage it, it was he who would gain the close advantage.

_Man, I'll need eight billion showers after this battle is over._

"Lunette..." To Mamoru's benefit, his voice broke - maybe he was more exhausted than he thought. "Lunette, please...no more..."

He sagged, trying to look defeated, and then got to his feet with a deliberate quaver. He hoped he looked convincingly pitiful. The prince fought back the disgust and hatred that boiled as soon as he looked into the clone's face; focusing on the searing pain that hid just below the surface of his innumerable burns, he found his eyes watering out of instinct. "I surrender. Just...Please, just stop. I can't take any more pain."

For a moment, Lunette looked genuinely perplexed. But the surprise quickly disappeared into a mean, devilish grin, and a chorus of laughter echoed all around the chamber; so arrogant and cocky was its sound that Mamoru had a hard time resisting the urge to punch her in the face. "Oh, Mamochan, I knew you'd see how fruitless your efforts were. I can make it all better for you, Mamochan; would you like that?"

_Not the time to vomit, not the time to vomit..._ "Yes," he said meekly, keeping his revulsion at bay with all of his self-control. He pretended to lose the support of his legs and crumpled forward, just barely managing to break his fall with his hands and not his nose.

Mamoru allowed himself to lay panting on the floor for a moment, not daring to look at Lunette again, for fear of allowing her to see through the ruse. It rather disgusted him how easy it was to look helpless right now--the pain, the exhaustion, the fatigue, were all infuriatingly close to the truth. The only part that was not real was his willingness to give in so easily.

"Poor Mamochan," the clone gloated, white boots delicately stepping over debris as she neared him. "You really never had a chance, did you?" Mamoru instinctively flinched when he felt her glove lightly rest on his back, and it was only by much mental screaming that he could force his body to relax, and not shudder at every touch he received from her. Lunette knelt down by his side, pulled the black-haired prince gently into her arms. Mamoru lay like a rag-doll in her grasp, obedient to her every movement, and loathing every second of it. "It's okay now, Mamochan. I'll make it all better." She pulled his head down against her shoulder, holding him as though comforting a child, and Mamoru hid his face in what was left of her tattered fuku, resisting the urge to gag at her once-sweet scent, now mingled with the smells of burnt fabric and burnt flesh.

_When this is all over, I'm bathing in disinfectant. And I'm going to burn these clothes._

Lunette was rubbing her hand up and down his back, a feeling which made his skin crawl. But rather than pull away from her, as he desperately wished to do, Mamoru wrapped his arms around the clone's back, clinging to her in an iron-clad bear hug. The blonde grinned down at the back of his head in triumph, the dangerous flash in her blue eyes temporarily giving way to foolish pride. "You've finally come to understand the truth, haven't you, Mamochan? You're mine now, aren't you?"

He would have been willing to wait a little longer, but this final insult was too much to sit through. With his face turned away as it was, she could not see the sudden flash of hot gold in his eyes, and in her arrogance, could not feel the sudden explosion of released power in his chest. But even the sightless clone could not miss the abrupt golden glow that wrapped around him so suddenly that it began to burn her exposed flesh before she took notice. A scream erupted from her throat, followed by a string of jumbled and un-ladylike curses, but struggle as she might, Mamoru already had Lunette pinned between his arms.

"Let me go, you... you... big mean person!" She thrashed against Mamoru's arms, tried to punch or claw his face, but he remained rigid as ever, squeezing the girl against his chest, as the golden light that surrounded him seared her flesh.

"I'm not yours, Lunette," he whispered viciously. "I never will be."

More angry than frightened now, and somehow managing to ignore what must have been incredible pain, the clone growled furiously, and thrust her knee into his groin. Mamoru just barely had the presence of mind not to yelp in pain, but not to maintain his hold on the fiesty woman. His grip now slackened, Lunette wormed her way out of his arms, and scrambled out of arm's reach before even daring to stand up. Now looking like a long-lost extra from Night of the Living Dead--charred skin, singed hair, and all, the clone wobbled unsteadily for a moment before finding her bearings. "You filthy little..." Failing to find an adequately insulting noun, she left the remainder of that phrase to the imagination.

"I'm hardly the person to be called filthy. You make a living out of manipulating people. I merely mimic the sins of the sinner." Mamoru's face twitched into something between a wince and mild disgust. His cheesy hero dialogue gland was acting up again. And he'd done such a good job of burying it all through the ordeal.

The look on Lunette's face - or what remained of it - would have made any horror movie fan scream. "All sinners go to Hell, Mamochan. If I go, you're coming with me."

* * *

Mamoru sure had been showering a long time. That was the general consensus of the Shitennou that were currently awake. Malachi's only say in the matter was the sound of deep, even breathing that accompanies a good nap, with the occasional buzz of snoring as he inhaled part of his pillow. The jury was still out on him, but as Zory walked the path of the dingy, beer-stained carpet, he had to think that their leader would agree. 

Mamoru was not exactly the kind of person who struck him as overly concerned with hygiene, to the point of being in the shower for longer than half an hour. Admittedly, he probably hadn't showered since being flung out a fifth story window, and probably needed all the warm water and soap he could get. On the other hand, he had the vaguest feeling of worry - no alarm bells were ringing, no klaxons were going off, but his intuition was sitting wrong, and it felt kind of like the heartburn he always got after eating Neff's 'famous' chili. And he was pretty sure there weren't any jalapeños in his coffee.

* * *

Pink light erupted out of the end of her Tier, slamming him against the ground. If he were not already enveloped by his own golden light, this might have been far more painful than it was. Mamoru raised a hand to shield his face, struggling to sit up against the force of the hurricane, while all around him bits of rock crumbled, the pieces scattering in every direction. He couldn't see Lunette beyond the blinding energy, but even over the force of the blast he could hear her furious snarl as the light surged in a sudden wave of power and picked him right off the ground, tossing him like a leaf against the far wall.

* * *

"Think he got lost on the way from the door to the shower? I mean, it is a huge bathroom. It takes like, two whole steps to get anywhere." 

Zory paused long enough in his pacing to sigh at Neff, who was currently lounging on the couch, drinking a mug of what was a compromise between his taste buds and his aching throat, in the form of lukewarm coffee.

Jed was sprawled out in the chair by Malachi's desk, looking like he might very well fall asleep in it. "Maybe we should send Malachi in on a rescue mission. Much as I love the Prince, I'm not too keen on seeing him in the buff."

"And what makes you think Malachi would appreciate being woken up for such a task?"

The blonde grinned. "Oh, he'd appreciate it. I'm sure he'd thank us for it later."

* * *

The wall seemed to explode upon impact, the rock shattering like porcelain. Mamoru slid to the ground amidst piles of rubble, the light surrounding him somehow dimmer and less lustrous than it was before. Something hot trickled down the side of his head, and he had the sinking feeling that it was not just sweat. When the dust cleared from his vision, the clone stood over him, Tier pointed hazardously close to his chest, its immaculate shimmer the only part about her that still held its original brilliance. "No mistakes this time," she muttered grimly. 

Unfortunately for Mamoru, the most recent encounter with the wall had done some serious damage to his eardrums - not only was the impact freaking loud and rather painful, but he'd managed to do a somersault in the air and hit the wall cheek first. As a result, he thought the clone had said "a fish cake decline," which didn't make much sense, and didn't quite strike fear into his heart. However, the Tier did a mighty fine job of that on its own.

"Well, Mamochan? Any last words?"

The Prince tried to focus on her face, in an attempt to lip read. The brilliant stars of pain that flicked in the corners of his eyes made it very hard to make out any discernable shapes, except the one really sparkly one less than six inches from his nose.

"I hate you," Mamoru said conversationally, as though Lunette had asked him what he thought of the weather, and not for a pithy quotation that she could put on his gravestone. He lifted his hand, which was a monumental undertaking, his palm facing off against the happy pink heart at the end of her very unhappy death stick.

"Tuxedo--"

Before the battle could begin anew, something flashed across his consciousness. It was hot and cold against the back of his mind, bitter and burned in his mouth, and it made him shriek in surprise and pain. The vaguely minty aftertaste meant only one thing: Malachi. Malachi was--what? He wasn't in physical danger - Mamoru picked up the faint outlines of a bed when he tried to reach out. A nightmare. Malachi was having a nightmare.

Calling it 'a doozy' did not even begin to describe it.

* * *

Malachi was completely, utterly lost. The landscape looked, in not so many words, like someone had thrown up on a Dali painting. He -had- been enjoying a nice dream about Neff, an iguana, and six pints of strawberry ice cream (he blamed the drugs), but some time after the snail races and Zory trying to patch the Liberty Bell with bathroom caulk, the reverie had been broken. It had sounded like every car alarm in the Bay Area had been set off at once. 

Mamoru was in danger, and he was somewhere in this mess of toppling towers, cars floating in the air, and very unhappy contortionist horses. As he stumbled, shirt caught on a thorn bush muttering in Portuguese, Malachi made a mental note to never, ever get into a fight with the Prince again. He definitely did not like painkillers.

"Prince?" he shouted, and even his voice sounded distorted, as though he was a recording. "Prince, are you out here?"

* * *

His concentration shattered, the clone found no difficulty in smashing the Tier across his face, sending explosions of stars dancing into his vision. Everything went dark for a few moments while he tried to come to terms with the throbbing in his head and the sharp flashes of panic being transmitted from Malachi's mind. He wanted desperately to rush to his friend's aid, knowing that he had not been in the best shape when he had left him, but Mamoru sort of had other important things to worry about right now, like not getting killed. 

His vision was still shot all to hell, but that did not stop him from feeling another oncoming blow from the dreaded Tier. If he could have stopped to think for a few seconds, he may have wondered why Lunette had not blasted him into ten million pieces by now, but he was far more preoccupied by blocking her weapon's vicious swings. He blocked with his elbow, using the moment of recovery to kick the blonde clone in the vicinity of her stomach. With an indignant grunt she fell back, giving him enough time to attack. Without a word, golden light erupted from his hand, blasting in Lunette's general direction. It was not as powerful as his "Tuxedo Mirage", but he could not bring himself to focus enough to summon it, and a series of thumps told him that he had at least knocked the pretty girl down.

* * *

He knew he was here somewhere, in need of Malachi's help. He needed to find Mamoru, to help him before - before what? He couldn't say, but he also could not shake off this feeling of dread that something terrible was about to happen. 

He tore at his cape, which had been in the process of being slowly devoured by the Portuguese thornbush, now turned into a heap of rabid doorknobs, and frantically scanned the fish-infested horizon. Somewhere beyond the man-eating bunny, a wall of marshmallow dissolved into freshly-crumbled rock, as a figure slumped against it materialized into existence. Blood was smeared on his face and matted with dust in his black hair. His tuxedo hung from his frame in tatters, singed at the edges. One eye was swollen nearly shut, but the other glared vehemently at something beyond the purple porcupine playing hopscotch, although Malachi had a feeling that that was not quite what he was looking at. He looked tired, but the white-haired man could detect a faint glow surrounding his body, shimmering with its everlasting warmth. He had not given up yet.

Malachi raced forward. Their concern for one another was bringing down the barriers between their minds, letting him see where his Prince was and how he could help. If he could only get there--"Prince!"

* * *

Mamoru squinted in his attempt to glare at Lunette as she struggled to get to her feet, but flashes of gnomes playing with hula hoops and Hello Kitty skipping down the lane kept disrupting his concentration, which was disconcerting at best. He really needed to take care of this clone before he worried about what sorts of horrible things were happening in Malachi's mind (green foxes singing The Star Spangled Banner notwithstanding), but at this rate, he would be lucky if he could see her long enough to throw an attack. It did not help that, in the back of his mind, he knew that it was only a matter of time before these antics forced Malachi awake and the Shitennou came running to his rescue. And that, he realized, would go against the whole "sneaking off to make sure the Shitennou don't get hurt" idea. 

He needed to get Malachi out of his head. And he needed to do it in such a way that he would not wake up.

* * *

The figure turned at the sound of his name, and regarded the white-haired man directly. Somehow, Malachi was certain that this part was not a dream, even with the dancing flowers hovering above him. Those blue eyes were too sharp to be anything but reality. 

But as soon as their eyes had locked, Mamoru vanished behind a herd of cherry cough drops, distressing Malachi to no end. "Prince! Prince, can you hear me?"

"Malachi." He whipped around, welcoming his prince's voice like a breath of fresh air. It was no longer the real image of Mamoru's bruised and beaten body, which he could only tell because the black-haired man now stood on the lima bean street without so much as a scratch on him. Malachi found himself mildly thankful for that, even if he knew it was not true. It should have occurred to him what exactly this change meant--that he had shifted from being able to access Mamoru's reality to Mamoru manipulating his own. It may have clued him in that he should be on his guard, but at the moment, all that the white-haired man could think about was getting to his Prince.

"Prince..." he started forward.

...And a ten-foot brick wall shot up between them.

Malachi stared wildly. Why was this happening? "Prince!" He banged on the wall with his fists, but it was completely solid. Malachi was beginning to panic now. It was like those dreams where you tried to get somewhere, but no matter how much you willed yourself, your body would not move. Well he could still move, dagnabbit, and he was not giving up just yet. He began to charge to one side, hoping to find the end of the wall and run around it.

Only for a second to spring up in his path.

The other two did not wait for him to run. Before he could consider moving, he was enclosed on all sides by hard, solid, brick. "What the fuck!" he finally shouted, not caring for eloquence or prudence at this point.

The bricks directly across from him shifted, splitting until they took the form of a crude mouth. "I'm sorry, Malachi. I can't let you interfere."

"What the hell does that mean? Interfere with what!" Malachi pounded on the brick wall; no matter how raw his knuckles got, or how hard he punched, the wall did not budge. "Prince! What's going on?"

"Nothing. Nothing's going on."

"I find that hard to believe, since I just saw--"

"What you just saw was your imagination working overtime, Malachi. Or did you forget the purple polka dot alligators already?"

Well, frustratingly enough, the Mamoru-mouth on the wall had a point. But still-- "Prince, I -felt- something. You can't blame that on my imagination. If you're hurt--"

"You can't help, Malachi. You just need to stay out of it."

"Can't help with what! Prince! Tell me what's happening!"

But with a brief shudder, the mouth vanished back into the average, ordinary bricks, leaving Malachi alone and extremely confused. And angry, definitely angry.

"Prince! Goddammit, Prince, don't do this!" Malachi hadn't stopped punching at the walls yet; he did not intend to, until they gave way. His knuckles had become nothing more than raw muscle and bone, leaving enormous red smears all over the previously immaculate walls. The crunching of bone echoed over the landscape (though the term was being used loosely). "Prince!"

Malachi's anger was visible in every line and muscle on his body. He had to get out, had to knock down the fortress that Mamoru had built around him, preventing his interference in--in what? He would know soon enough. He would know, and then he could help. But the bricks would not give, and every time he let a punch fly, he shouted and growled wordlessly, a tiger in a cage that was far too small.

And then, for a moment, his eyes flickered. Then again, from green to grey and back, like static on an old television. For what seemed like the hundredth time, he swung at the wall--

_fight fight destroy break free break the walls get OUT_

And then he couldn't remember exactly what he was doing, why he wanted to get out, that there was a Prince somewhere getting his ass seriously kicked. He just wanted out. He was angry, and he wanted something to fight. His fist went through the wall as though he had just stuck it into butter, not bricks. There was a hole now, in the walls that had held him in. It was barely larger than his head, but he had succeeded. He was almost free.

Malachi whooped in animal excitement at his moment of triumph, and then looked down at his hand; an instinct he could not describe, especially in his feral state. In a moment that seemed to last forever, all of the flesh on Malachi's hand, the tendons and muscles and skin, began to rot. As though watching a time elapse film, it all fell away, turning from tan and red to green to black. He could hear it hit the ground; the wet 'plop' sounded foreign and awkward, like someone was trudging through a muddy field. All that remained of his instrument of fury was bone, clean and stripped and as white as snow.

Somewhere across the landscape, Kunzite - the terrible, fearless, heartless lord of the Dark Kingdom - laughed.

Malachi's scream not only echoed around in his head, but inside his bedroom, as loud and as piercing as an air raid siren. He screamed and screamed until there was no oxygen in his lungs, and only then did he realize that he had snapped himself out of his dream.

Across the house, somebody wondered if those four crazy guys were watching a horror movie. When the screaming stopped, they picked up their beers, and immediately forgot about it.

* * *

Mamoru pulled out of Malachi's dream, erecting his own mental equivalent of brick walls around himself. He felt a sinking of guilt as he did so; he hated messing with anyone's mind like this, least of all those of his friends', but he simply could not allow Malachi to come leading the other Shitennou into battle in their condition. Maybe it was residual hatred of Lunette still running through him, but Mamoru was feeling particularly unsympathetic just now, and intentionally manipulating someone else's subconscious did not seem to be quite the unthinkable act that he normally considered it. 

But then, he really did not have time to dwell on the matter, as Lunette was currently shooting explosive beams of energy at him.

The wall behind him took another beating as he ducked, barely dodging a few shards of rock bigger than his head. He growled in frustration as Lunette belted out an unfeminine cackle. "Why aren't you dead yet?" he shouted in irritation. Not even the frilly glaive-welding goth girl had been this persistent.

"I should be asking you the same question, Mamochan! Honestly, why can't you just take my attacks like a man?"

Mamoru glared at her as he tried to get to his feet. Then he wished he had not, as she was so burned and battered that no human being in her condition should have still been breathing, let alone standing. It was a mighty unsettling sight, even for the aspiring doctor.

As for himself, standing was a more difficult proposition than he gave it credit for. Either he had hit his head harder than he realized, or the room was doing some mighty interesting flipflops. It likely did not help that he had lost more blood than he cared to estimate, mere hours after being gored through the stomach. And his head, quite frankly, was taking a beating today.

"Aww, can't poor widdle Mamochan stand up all by himself?" The clone taunted in her most sickening baby voice, as Mamoru got himself upright and propped against the wall. It was not a much better position than the floor, really, but at least he did not have to endure the indignity of looking up at his opponent.

_I can't fight this way,_ he thought morosely. _She injured me too badly. But dammit, I'm stronger than her! I know I am!_ And he would not be beaten by some inhuman short-skirted teenager who spoke baby talk!

But the clone was not wasting time with gloating anymore, and had lifted her Tier again. "Starlight Honeymoon Therapy Kiss!" White and pink energy erupted from the shimmering object, blasting towards its target with surgeon's precision. It hurled itself across the cavern aiming directly for the black-haired prince's chest. Golden light suddenly sprang up around Mamoru, surrounding him like a spherical shell. White struck gold and exploded on impact, beams of energy ricocheting off in random directions. A splinter of white and gold light shot into the center of the Beryl statue, shattering what remained of it. An enormous crack sounded as it split, pieces of the giant replica of the dark queen tumbling dangerously close to the black-haired man. There was a flicker, as the purple glow of the statue began to fade, then slowly die out. The single light source now destroyed, the underground room was plunged into darkness.

All went silent for a few minutes, save the crumbling and rolling of a few stray bits of rock. "Hmph," Lunette sniffed, listening for signs of movement from her opponent. "Over so soon?"

As though in response, a new light began to glow, but it was not purple. It was gold. Where her questioning eyes searched for a beaten and bloody university student, she found instead the ominous form of an ancient prince, fully-armoured and pissed as hell. And he was unsheathing his sword.

"Over?" Endymion smirked mildly, though it was not a friendly one. "I thought we were just getting started. Let's step up the pace, hmm?"

* * *

"Malachi?" The voice sounded incredibly soft and timid after the blood-curdling scream that had erupted from his own throat. He knew that it had been his scream, and that it had not been only apart of the dream, if only from the rawness in his throat and the mild ringing in his ears. He took a deep breath, and let it out slowly, struggling slightly to keep it steady. Somehow, he had ended up sitting up in his bed. The sharp throbbing above his sling indicated that he had wrenched his shoulder in the process. He had not looked at anyone just yet, but a brief glance out of the corners of his eyes told him that everything was just as it had been before he went to sleep--Zory stood nearby with his hair hastily tied back and a worried expression on his face, Neff was sitting on the edge of the couch, a cup of coffee in hand and rumpled hair indicating that he had recently been laying on it, and Jed was sprawled in his chair, face bruised and eyes wide. But the very important difference here was that, other than the sound of the shower running in the adjoining bathroom, there was no royal prince to be found. 

He turned abruptly towards Zory, which rather seemed to startle the blonde since, until now, he had made no acknowledgement of anyone else in the room. "Where is he?" His voice was calm but sharp and commanding, and more than a little cold.

"He's... he's just in the shower, Malachi, he's fine..."

"Go check on him."

"What?"

Malachi did not say anything more. He -looked- at them, which was in itself motivation enough. Neff was already on his feet and halfway across the room before the other two could act.

The white-haired man remained where he was, silently trying to compose himself as much internally as he was projecting externally. He ran his fingers through sweaty strands of silver hair, but stopped when he realized how much his hand was shaking. He tried not to think about the twisted, medication-induced nightmare, though shattered images of a rotting hand and haunting peals of laughter lingered on the edges of his senses. Instead, he tried to focus on what was far more important--Mamoru. Where was Mamoru? What could he be doing? Were the visions real, or was it just one more cracked-out twist of his nightmare that could be owed entirely to pain killers?

Zory was watching him with concern. Malachi had the feeling that he wanted to offer comfort, but the leader of the Shitennou was in no mood to be spilling out his heart just now. He refused to meet the blonde's gaze.

"He's not answering," Neff reported dully, somewhat stating the obvious, as anyone in the room could hear his knocking on the door and the subsequent lack of reply.

"Then what are you waiting for?" Malachi asked softly, in that same icy tone he had taken on. "Go in and check on him."

The audible click and subsequent muttered curse was good indication that the door was, in fact, locked.

Malachi turned to Jed, and the blonde quite visibly shivered at the look in his eyes. "I hope you still know how to pick locks."

Jed looked like he wanted to say any number of things; he tried to form at least three sentences, but all of them failed. Finally, he turned away from Malachi, and toward the less intimidating Zory. "I'm, uh, gonna need one of your hair clips."

Normally, this would have caused an endless string of jokes and accompanying complaints, but everyone felt uncomfortable around this serious, downright -chilly- Malachi. And they couldn't help but wonder if something was afoot. Mamoru had been in the shower an awfully long time. Zory nodded and left for his own bathroom without a word.

"Maybe he couldn't tell up from down after all," Neff muttered, turning back toward the bathroom door. If anyone heard him, they didn't acknowledge it.

* * *

"Dammit! Why couldn't you just -die-, like you were supposed to!" Lunette blocked the giant, deadly sword with her dinky toy Tier for what seemed like the three hundredth time. Swing, block; swing, slice. It had been five minutes of non-stop swinging. Any time the clone thought she had enough time to whip out an attack, that sword would swipe dangerously close to her wrist, or her ankle, and she'd frantically hop backwards and away from the pointy thing. 

"I wouldn't dream of giving you the satisfaction." Endymion was on fire - and, for once, not literally. He matched every single one of her moves; if she moved left, he followed. If she raised her Tier, he blocked it. And if she tried to run, she'd certainly regret it. His blue eyes, once clouded over and unfocused in pain, were sharp as nails. They took in everything. He could tell that she was running out of energy, and running out of moves. Unlike the real Usako, she didn't have a Ginzuishou to rely on when she was tired. No, when the clone was finished, she was finished.

For the first time in the entire ordeal, Endymion knew he wasn't going to lose.

* * *

"Jed, could you possibly move any slower?" 

"Son of a... Neff, either stop breathing down my neck, or come down here and do it yourself." Jed peered at the lock two inches from his nose, hoping that by sheer will he could force it open in place of his hands. His fingers, normally swift and nimble, felt clumsy around the hairclip which was currently in the process of being bent out of shape. It did not help that the tension in the room was frustrating him to no end. Malachi's "ice king" side was working on overdrive, and any questions posed to him were met with either curt answers or brooding silence. And his anxiety about the prince must have been catching, because everyone was suddenly worried as all heck. What confused Jed was that nothing felt "wrong," exactly. Not really. Things had felt wrong when Mamoru had dreamt they were all dead. That, certainly, felt wrong. But right now, other than the fact that Malachi had gone on this "obey me or face my wrath" kick, the worst that Jed could describe it as was... off. Things were not quite the way they should be, somehow, and he could not put his finger on what it was. "Just a little... dammit! Zory, you need to invest in some better fucking hairclips."

Malachi sat on the edge of his bed, having somehow disentangled himself from the nest of sheets and blankets that had somehow wrapped around his knees. He did not watch Jed work, because the blonde's struggles only frustrated him further, and the last thing he needed was for something to set him off right now. Instead, he gazed at the wall opposite, allowing his eyes to lose focus as his mind again attempted to connect with his prince.

He must have been blocking Malachi out. That was the only explanation. If he were unconscious or worse... no. He would be able to feel it. He knew Mamoru was out there, somewhere, but somehow he was keeping himself below Malachi's radar.

"Fuck! These buildings are 50 years old. You wouldn't think they'd invest in state of the art, military grade locks." Jed wiped his brow, a futile attempt at mopping up some sweat. To say he was feeling the pressure was an understatement. He was worried for the Prince, too, which certainly wasn't steadying his nerves. He wanted to know what was going on in that bathroom. He had the sinking feeling that the answer was 'nothing' - that their prince had run off to do something remarkably stupid. He had a knack for that kind of thing.

He picked up the hairclip again, and with an almost comical look of concentration, went back to his task. Tongue stuck out, eyebrows knitted, body crouched, tense and ready to pounce as soon as the door opened. Left, right, left went the little hairclip, dancing around the mechanisms and looking for just the right spot.

Finally, after a long, awkward silence, he heard it. The hairclip hit the center of the lock; weakened, the rest followed suit, and Jed recognized the telltale "click" of a successfully picked lock.

"God -damn-, took me long enough. Finally." Before Jed even considered reaching for the doorknob, Malachi had walked the length of the room - still dragging a blanket wrapped around his leg - and brushed him aside. No, brushed was not the right word. He shoved Jed aside, clearly agitated, seeking confirmation to what he was fearing. Startled, Jed couldn't regain his balance, and with an indignant "whoa!" he toppled over, missing a floor lamp by mere inches. Not especially concerned for his friend at that moment, Malachi didn't even seem to notice. He wrenched the knob and flung it open, stepping over Jed like the blonde was a throw rug.

"You're welcome, asshole," he muttered, mostly to the carpet. He rolled on his side and got quickly to his feet; by the time he'd done so, the other two Shitennou had crowded around the door, straining past Malachi's tall and unmoving frame to see what on earth was going on.

As Jed had predicted - nothing. There was no Prince. The door to the shower was open, and the water was still running, but there was definitely no Prince to be found. There were no traces of his borrowed clothes, so he had probably put them on before he'd disappeared. And the window was partly open, which was definitely not Malachi's doing.

They had, for lack of a better term, a jailbreak on their hands. Jed hit his head on the doorframe, groaning. Neff muttered some choice words, the least of them being, "I will kill that royal dumbass." Zory looked for all the world like he was about to cry - the look on his face shouted 'betrayal' and 'shock' in no uncertain terms.

Malachi, on the other hand, was completely impassive. It wasn't as though he was surprised - Mamoru was not getting his ass kicked anywhere in the frathouse. However, that was where the secure knowledge ended. Was he on the campus? Had the enemy found their way in through the bathroom, taken him back to their lair (or some equally nefarious-sounding hideout)? The dream had given him no hints. It just figured; the one time he needed the Mam-o-meter the most, Mamoru had learned to cloak himself.

If he wasn't dead when the Shitennou got there, Malachi would make certain he was going to wish otherwise.

* * *

Endymion swung sharply, his sword ringing as it struck the slightly-battered Tier. Self-preservation was the only thing on Lunette's mind, now. She desperately tried to defend herself, blocking as fast as he could swipe at her, but anyone could see that she was crumbling. The once-powerful clone who believed she had him in her grasp was little more than a frightened little girl. Every blow from his sword made her stumble, every advance he took forced her back, until it was clear that if she did not think fast, she would be pressed against the wall. 

"Mamochan... please..." she pleaded between blocks.

"No, Lunette, you don't get off that easily," he replied conversationally, as though lifting and swinging the heavy sword were no effort at all. The helpless clone was no threat to him, now. She was a pathetic creature that had dared try to ensnare the Prince of the Earth in her trap. She deserved death, most certainly. But he was taking his time in bringing the final blow. He wanted her to feel just how futile her efforts had been. He wanted her to feel the same pain that she had been inflicting on him and his friends.

A swift strike ripped the Tier from the blonde's hands, and she slammed against the wall. He had her now. Face impassive, Endymion lifted his blade so that it was level with her throat, his prey cornered at last. His eyes smoldered like sapphires in flame, blue laced with gold, and she whimpered at the touch of the blade, so close to her racing pulse. She stared at him, not even pleading anymore, her skin pale beneath the burns and the cuts.

In the darkness of the underground cave, the only source of light was Endymion's brilliance, a softly shimmering gold that surrounded the two of them, fading into darkness as it approached the opposite walls. Lunette positively trembled at the close proximity to such pure light, as though the very presence of it seared through her skin. Empty silence echoed through the room, punctuated by Lunette's panting and Mamoru's own calm breaths. The person in the shadows, whoever it was, was long forgotten.

Lunette watched, eyes wide, as the sword was drawn away from her throat again, just far enough that she felt confident enough to exhale. Though he was raging mad, furious beyond belief, and hated Lunette with a cold malice that burned ice blue in his golden eyes, somehow Endymion still had the presence of mind to know that he did not want to be killing in cold blood. It would be a heated move in the midst of battle, or nothing at all. Otherwise, he would regret sinking to her level for the rest of his life.

His eyes flicked significantly in the direction of where her Tier had fallen, the message clear. Lunette did not think twice. She lunged for the item as though her life depended on it--as, indeed, it did--and gathered it up into her trembling hands, turning to face him with what was left of her pride.

Endymion faced her, his sword outstretched in preparation to attack again. It was time to finish this.

* * *

"Search the area," Malachi said flatly, kicking off the blanket that had trailed behind his ankles and turning away from the abandoned bathroom. "He might not have gone far." Before anyone could respond, he stormed past three baffled Shitennou and through the door, all but slamming it behind him. 

He knew that searching the immediate area would not do any good. If Mamoru was fighting as violently as the images in his dream had seemed--and he had a good suspicion that he was--then they would have seen or felt it by now. But he needed to feel like -something- useful was being done, because he was set so on edge at the moment that he felt like he would soon snap and start throwing things through the walls. He barely noticed the party raging in the livingroom, the kitchen, and much of the stairs (a safety hazard if he had ever seen one). Nor did he care to notice the curious glances that were thrown his way at the sight of his arm in a sling and the fact that he looked like he had just caught his girlfriend making out with another man and was about to go on a killing rampage (although they all knew this was not true, as it was common knowledge that in all his two years at Epsilon Xi, he had not had a single date, though not for want of many a college girl who was trying to get in his pants). He left them to think whatever they liked, and spread whatever rumors they deemed necessary to add to the already growing pile of shit that was his life, and stomped outside.

Although the rain had dwindled to little more than a light sprinkle, the front porch was currently deserted, which served him just fine. He leaned on the damp wood railing, green eyes scanning the darkness outside as though his Prince would somehow turn up right in front of him, the way that he had turned up the night his dorm burned down, and Malachi had not wanted to admit how concerned he was about this borderline stranger as he watched the flashing lights of the fire engines. How long ago that seemed to be, even though it was just--what? Two nights? Three? And now here he was back in this spot on the porch, an entirely different person on a very different night, still looking for the same man to emerge from the darkness.

He tried once again to pick up a signal from his Prince, but his efforts were once again deflected. He spat a curse at the ground, gripping the railing with his one good hand until his knuckles popped with the effort, and the wood twisted beneath his grip. The crisp rain splattering just beyond his face was not enough to cool his frustration. Every beat of the music blasting inside, every jarring bark of laughter and clink of an empty bottle made him want to start screaming and breaking things into kindling. He could take out the whole porch, if he wanted to. He'd start with the railing he was holding onto, and then he'd take out the support beams, one by one. He would snap them in half like they were nothing, and then the whole roof would come crashing down, shattering the boards beneath him...

God, what was wrong with him? He never used to think like this. He was always the calm one, always the one in control. Now he felt like he was always on the brink of destroying something, always trying desperately to hold himself together before he did something he'd regret. The dream he had so recently come out of flashed through his mind, and he felt a sickening twist in his stomach.

The others had recovered so quickly from their glut of memories. But every time Malachi turned around - if he went to sleep, if he spent too long considering the situation at hand, hell, if he even stopped fighting for five seconds - everything went to hell. Jed wasn't choking people. Neff wasn't screaming himself awake. Zory wasn't considering heavy property damage. What was going on?

Of course, he knew the answer to this question. While none of them could call the Dark Kingdom a good experience, the others had come out the other side relatively unscathed - emphasis on 'relatively.' There was no doubt that all of them carried some sort of emotional trauma, on top of the guilt and misery of betraying the Prince in the first place (not that they'd have much choice in the matter, as they had technically been dead at the time; it wasn't one of those "raise your hand if you want to join the Dark Kingdom!" kind of deals).

But there was something different about Kunzite's Dark Kingdom memories. Maybe it was because he was, as he always had been, the leader of the Shitennou, so when they failed, he was punished for their inadequacies. Though the Sailor Senshi had been hibernating for hundreds of years before the Dark Kingdom faced them in the modern day, there had been other minor - and less minor - threats. The Shitennou had spent this time collecting energy for Metallia in various ways; some succeeded, but many were thwarted by the people whose territory they secretly lorded over. When a scheme failed, it was Kunzite's head that had often come under fire. The others simply weren't experienced enough, didn't know better.

Maybe it was because, while the others had allowed themselves the potentially fatal luxury of mourning, that they had freely shared their emotions with everyone in the vicinity, which he could not afford. After a century or two, Kunzite had forgotten what emotions were even like; he had suppressed them so ruthlessly that, by the time he had a moment to take stock of them, they'd ceased to exist. He learned to live without them, but couldn't help feeling that the other Shitennou, though young and naive and foolish, had something that he needed.

And then, there were memories that were...well, there was no sense beating around the bush. Disgusting. Completely and utterly disgusting. He had learned the way to earn Beryl's favor, and he had learned it quickly. Oh, it had started off innocently enough. He would smile at her, touch her hand, squeeze her shoulders. But simple flirtation was not enough for her. In her youth, before Metallia discovered her, she had been beautiful, desirable, and men had flocked to her, in the hopes of courting her, or at least in the hopes of having a good time. Now she was the queen of a kingdom of monsters, and few men - or man-like creatures - could be found. Kunzite was one of them. And it didn't take her long before she began demanding other favors. Sexual favors. Strange, animal lovemaking that involve the tearing of flesh, biting and scratching and...

Malachi stared at his hand, taking in every little detail of it, so as to push the revulsion away. It simply would not do to throw up on the deck, not now. His knuckles, strained white against the railing, purple from bruises and off red from a smear of blood that he could not begin to guess the origin of. Short, stubby fingers, with squared off fingertips. The palm he could feel, but not see, calloused and rough, but still a bit soft. Not as delicate as Zory's, nor as gritty and worn as Neff's. Just, well, a hand.

For a moment, he caught a flash of bare bone, white as snow, a mirage left over from his painkiller nightmare. He sighed, a hiss of air through his teeth, and shook his head. No matter how much he would like to deny it, pretend that Mamoru simply went to the cafeteria for some sort of substance resembling food, he knew how much of that dream had been real. Kunzite could separate the hallucinations from the honest to goodness distress call that the Prince had been putting out.

Mamoru had not looked good. He looked like he'd been fighting a long time; or perhaps no time at all, and his foe was simply more powerful, and was handing him his ass on a platter. Either way, he simply wouldn't last, at the rate he was going. They had to find him, before--

"Malachi! Malachi, I think I know where he is!"

The white-haired man spun on his heel in a split second, facing the doorway from whence the strained baritone voice had come. Neff was standing at the doorway, looking a little winded from his across-the-house dash, with an uncertain smile on his face - proud that he had made a breakthrough, but still somewhat wary of Malachi's sharp mood.

* * *

Crack! Sword and Tier collided in the middle, throwing splinters of pink and gold light away from both weapons. Endymion threw his weight into his sword and shoved Lunette back, sending her stumbling away from him. She turned, clutching her Tier between charred fingers with what he assumed was meant to be a dainty smile on her face. 

"Do you want to know why you're fighting alone, Mamochan? I can tell you why."

He swung his sword fiercely, not particularly interested in her mind games.

Lunette dodged between phrases, apparently not quite as fearful as she was before. "Because, Mamochan, deep down inside, that's how you like it. You like not being tied to anyone. You like not having anyone throw themselves in the path of danger for you. Why do you think you came to a school halfway around the world? Why do you think you came down here without telling anyone? When it comes right down to it, Mamochan, you never wanted the Shitennou or your princess in the first place."

In a blur of steel and light, Endymion's sword swung in one powerful arc and shattered the Tier in a burst of shimmering pink glass. Lunette slammed against the wall behind her, weaponless, powerless, and with a very large sword bearing down on her.

"That's where you're wrong," he said softly, his sword just short of impaling his opponent. "I'm here because I do still want them to be there tomorrow."

Lunette smiled, in her strange, Lunette sort of way. "I see. I never could convince you of anything, could I Mamochan?" She glanced past him, in the direction of the shadows behind what was left of the Beryl statue. "And I see that our time has run short, and I have outlived my usefulness." She took the blade of the sword with both hands, heedless of the razor-sharp edges, and turned her eyes, still crystal blue like Usako's, up toward his. "Goodbye, Mamochan." Before he could react, she pulled the blade against his will towards her, and plunged it into her chest.

The sword stopped only partway in, because not even a clone of her strength could push it past all the bone and other important bits before she began to weaken. Endymion could hardly swallow his disgust at the sight of the clone, bleeding and dying with his own sword through her, and he could not even hate her enough to enjoy the idea of her suffering in that way. He gripped the hilt in both hands, tried not to see the place where her flesh met the steel of his sword, and with one hard shove, pushed it through until it clashed against the stone wall behind. At last, in a burst of golden light, the former Usagi clone vanished.

Mamoru backed away from the wall where Lunette had been, feeling just the slightest bit squeamish, but quelling those feelings immediately. It was just a clone. It wasn't Usako, and it wasn't even human.

Instinctively, he inspected his blade, finding it clean and untarnished by that creature's blood. Yep, just a clone. Humans never cleaned up so nicely after they were gone.

He was not sure what it was that made him turn suddenly and hold his sword at ready. Perhaps it was pure instinct. Or perhaps, he had just remembered the figure that had been watching from the darkness. The shadows were even darker now, with only the illumination from his own aura lighting the place. He turned up the intensity a bit, watched the shadows recede from the scarred floor and the shards of crystal Beryl statue. The figure came into view, somehow managing to stand just beyond his light, so that his features remained obscured.

"Who are you?" Endymion asked in what was his most commanding voice. The sword remained outstretched before him.

He had to resist the urge to go running in to fight at that moment. Because his only response was laughter.

* * *

Malachi stared, uncomprehending, at Neff for several, rather agonizing, seconds. Transitioning from internal turmoil into normal communication was a more difficult task than he gave it credit for. His good hand still gripped the handrail like he intended to tear it up by the nails and start swinging at things. 

_Okay, Malachi, the Prince is in danger you're about two seconds away from giving yourself an aneurysm. I'm going to take over, and you are taking a rest._

_I'm so glad you consider me so capable, Kunzite,_ he answered dryly.

_Capable, nothing. We can talk about how capable you are when you're not considering heavy property damage while our Prince is getting beaten up somewhere. Now step aside._

There was a shift in consciousness, Malachi slipping back and Kunzite taking his place. It was still Malachi's body that stood on the porch, in his t-shirt and beat up jeans, but it was Kunzite's stance, Kunzite's controlled movements and sharp green eyes. Neff was still watching him in confusion, feeling that some sort of change had gone on in the past three seconds, but not sure of what it meant.

"Well?" Kunzite said sharply. "Out with it."

"He's, um," Neff attempted to regain his thoughts. "The old base. Don't ask me how I know, but something big is going down there. I'm sure it's gotta be him."

Kunzite immediately cursed his carelessness for not checking there immediately. The statue in the base was a decoy, but that did not mean Mamoru would not go wandering directly into their trap. Sometimes, he gave his Prince too much credit.

"Go get the others and head straight over. I'm going ahead." Neff nodded and ran back inside the house, as Kunzite leapt off the porch and took off across the campus. The moment he was out of view of the house, he discarded Malachi's normal clothes in favor of his uniform, enjoying the added strength that it gave him. The sling bothered him, though--it made his movements awkward, and he would need all the mobility he could get if he was going into battle. He pulled it off as he ran, letting it fall where it would, and hissed in pain as the arm fell free of its support. He may have been able to handle the damages of a partially-healed broken shoulder better as Kunzite, but it still did not entirely cancel out the effects of the pain it caused. He would just have to endure it, though. He had a Prince to save.

* * *

Endymion's defensive stance didn't waver for a second. He shook his sword a little, menacing, as if to remind this newcomer that he'd just destroyed the last of his clones, and was still in a fighting mood. "I'm done playing games," he warned. "Answer my question." 

"And spoil the mystery? All the dramatic buildup I've been working on for days?" The figure laughed again, shaking his still featureless head. "Please, Mamoru, you have -no- appreciation for a good entrance."

"I have been frozen, burned, thrown out a window, electrocuted, sliced to pieces, and groped by your thrift-store attempt at Usako." Endymion dug his feet in. If this guy didn't get the 'hi, I'm an villain, here's my Evil Plan' speech started, and soon, he would take the liberty of starting a fight first. "On top of that, I've been through emotional hell, I've probably been blacklisted by half of my professors, -and- I haven't eaten. I am way past appreciating a good entrance."

The figure clucked his tongue. "And what I am I supposed to do? -Pity- you? That wouldn't be very nefarious of me. I put you through all of that for a reason, you know. I spent quite a lot of time figuring out all of your weaknesses, and just how to exploit them. You've really got to work on the Usako thing. That's going to get you in a world of trouble someday."

He seemed to consider that last statement for a moment. "If you live that long," he added thoughtfully.

"I am about five seconds from the end of my patience. Either tell me who you are--" Endymion held up his sword, which reflected a blinding golden glare. "--or I just start swinging."

"Have it your way." The figure shrugged, and then stepped beyond the edge of the light.

No.

"You're..."

He was seeing things.

"You're..."

It couldn't be.

"It's been a long time, Mamoru."

His worst nightmare.

* * *

...ahem 

So. Uh.

Hi.

Apologies to all the fans who've been waiting forever and a day for this to get posted. We blame school. If we could smite school in the face, we totally would. And if it wasn't school, it was creative block. Anne sat on this fic for MONTHS with no idea where it was going. Eventually, the block was gone, the fic was worked on...

...and it had been six months since we'd promised an update.

Oops. Big oops.

So hey, to make up for our extended absence, how about we answer some of those pressing questions that people have been asking recently?

Helios. Helios is a priest, not a warrior. He isn't neglecting his job by not being around to protect Mamoru in battle--he is in the shrine where he is supposed to be. His duty is to remain in Elysion and do whatever it is that priests do, just as he has done for thousands of years. It's the Shitennou's job to do the guardian thing.

While most of you lovely readers enjoy the angst (which is good, because so do we), a few of you think we need to 'change it up a little' and lighten the mood of the fic. However, we've categorized it as Angst/Drama for a reason. Bleed is not a happy fic, and has never tried to masquerade as such. It has happy -moments-, but at the end of the day, it's angsty. It's dramatic. It's sad. That's what it's here to be. And we hate to say it (except, uh, not), but it doesn't get much better from here. Though it has a happy ending.

Maybe.

Mamoru shouldn't be able to heal himself that often without intaking a ton of energy. Mamoru also has the equivalent of the world's most sparkly battery sitting in his chest. Technically, he could probably go a long time without -any- food (although I doubt that would be especially healthy).

Why does no one at Stanford see weird battles taking place in their hallways? Stanford is indeed a crowded place--though no more than downtown Tokyo is. It's a fun little thing called "magic," which makes sparkly Senshi battles disappear from public memory, or at least important details of them like what said Senshi look like. Leftover damages like destroyed utility closets can be chalked up to natural disasters.

One of the most ... interesting critiques/issues we've come across can be described as "Mamoru is Usagi's dildo and emotional tampon." Trust us, guys, check out the other reviews. We can't make this up. It's a criticism we've seen before, though, and worth discussing. Yes, Mamoru is male. (We're pretty sure, anyway. Can't be too damn sure with those tricksy bishounen.) And yet, we don't seem to want to give him "balls" or make him "manly."

However, unless we've been reading different manga, or watching different anime and musicals, Mamoru isn't exactly that way. He's cool and removed, independent, sometimes a little goofy and fun loving. But how many times did he 'make a stand for himself' as he's apparently supposed to do? Also, he's been put through a lot of crap in this fic. To all the men out there - c'mon. You can't tell me that, after three straight days of unrivaled physical abuse, you wouldn't want to curl up in a ball and cry a little bit. You can't fool us. We've got you all figured out. We also know you like 'chick flicks.' We've known it all along! AHAHAHA...ha...yeah.

And to those of you who are so eager to find out about the sexual orientation of one character or another, we'll let you work that one out on your own. You didn't think you'd get an answer out of us that easily, did you?

In conclusion, we'd just like to say: we're so glad you missed us. Even if you're reconsidering it now. Just remember, if you want to find out how it ends, you can't kill us. Until next time!

AngelAnne and Spirit-hime


	11. Chapter 10

Bleed (Just to Know You're Alive)  
Chapter 10

------------------

"You're…"

"The ruler of Crystal Tokyo? Your future self? A snappy dresser?"

"King Endymion." Mamoru nearly choked on the words; his sword lowered a fraction, forgotten in the shock. All this time, all of the horrors he'd faced, pain he'd endured…and he'd been inflicting it on himself, from thousands of years in the future?

It took him a long moment to take all of it in. Yes, there in front of him was King Endymion, his extremely purple future self. But he seemed different from that initial revealing moment, and now he was beginning to recognize all the changes. His suit, normally an iridescent lavender, fitted tight with an expansive cape (suitable for flipping at subordinates) was a much deeper violet. The white embroidery work that had adorned the other suit was replaced by black sequins, stitched in a harsh flame pattern. The cape was black, and seemed much longer, gathering around his feet. His long staff still housed the Golden Crystal, but it was lacking in luster, as though someone hadn't polished it in a century or two. His face was distorted in something of a sneer, which was disconcerting, and made all the more so by the violent, ghastly scar that took up much of the right side of his face, jagged and spindly, like a flesh-colored spider. In his graying (purpling?) hair, there were black streaks.

"I'm so glad you recognize me, Mamoru. I was afraid our fight against the Black Moon had been forgotten. You have had a lot to fret about in recent years, haven't you? I've gone through a few changes, myself." The king laughed again, a sound Mamoru was really beginning to hate. "Oh, Mamoru, you thought the situation was bad enough before. Now you find out you're the world's biggest masochist! Man, it's rough to be you."

He paused. "It's rough to be me? Us? I never have worked that out."

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Mamoru suddenly regained his fighting stance, sword tip pointed right at King Endymion's throat. "Why are you trying to kill me?"

"Because--" the king sighed in mock exasperation, the base of his staff rapping against the ground to punctuate each word, "You. Are. A. Problem. You are the chink that causes the machine to fall apart, the butterfly that causes the storm, so to speak. You, Chiba Mamoru," here he jabbed the black-haired man in the shoulder with his staff, heedless at the very lethal sword within inches of his throat, "are the worst thing for this planet's future that could possibly exist."

Mamoru was well aware of the fact that he had a thing for self-depreciation, but even he liked to think that this was a slight exaggeration. In fact, while he still questioned his positive influence on the planet, he did not find himself so useless in the grand scheme of things as to dig himself into the negatives just yet. So he failed to see how, exactly, his not being brutally maimed by an evil clone of his girlfriend was actually a bad thing. "What the heck are you talking about?"

Endymion smiled in a way that Mamoru found remarkably unpleasant, and he made a mental note to never try and duplicate the expression on his own identical face. "Oh, Mamoru. Here you are with your whole life ahead of you, so young, so innocent. You have never truly seen all the horrors this world has to offer. You've no idea what your future has in store for you."

Mamoru had to disagree with his first point. Certainly, twenty years of experience was nothing compared to the centuries that the king had seen, but in that brief span of time he had seen more pain and horror than any of his pre-med peers, who liked to think that they were tough enough to face the dead and dying on a daily basis. Mamoru liked to think that he had a very good idea of what horrors the world had to offer, regardless of his age.

As for his future, as far as he knew, he was supposed to be spending the majority of it in a very sparkly crystal city with lavender hair and a pink-haired slip of a daughter. To see the changes the king had undergone, however, he wondered if some other things had not changed since he last saw them. The tiniest trickle of cold doubt stirred in the back of his mind, like the incessant dripping of a faucet that would not be ignored. He was careful to hold it in the back of his mind where it belonged, however, not allowing his face to betray his doubts. "I've seen my future."

"Buzz, wrong again! You have not seen the future, Mamoru. What you have seen is -a- future. A future that, at one time, may have been considered possible. But with all the things that have happened since your little trip to the Gates of Time, did you truly believe that your future would remain static? Have you never asked questions as simple as why there were only four Sailor Senshi in Crystal Tokyo, when you are now aware of more? Your future changes, Mamoru. It fluctuates with every step taken, every minute decision made, from what color socks you put on to what university you decide to attend. Some courses are more steady, more inevitable than others. Crystal Tokyo, for example, will most definitely come about, with the presence of a few important factors. What Crystal Tokyo actually becomes, however, is another matter entirely. The place, the time, the era, that is known as Crystal Tokyo, carries as vast a definition as can be. It can be the utopia that everyone so dearly hopes for. Or, it can be hell on Earth."

"What you're saying," Mamoru interjected, a little dubious, "is that the Crystal Tokyo I saw has become impossible after the last few years?"

"Precisely. Since we last met, you've changed your path a thousand times. The Death Busters, the Dead Moon Circus, Shadow Galactica." The king ticked them off on his fingers. "They all changed the future in ways you simply can't imagine. The Crystal Tokyo you saw has been completely erased. In its place…"

King Endymion shuddered, a spasm that moved his whole body involuntarily, even his face. The rough spider scar on his face seemed to crawl with it. He tried to suppress it with that ugly, disconcerting smile. "Let's just say no one's called it a utopia for a century or six."

Mamoru found something about him pitiable, and lowered his sword away from the king's throat. He was more confounded and intrigued than angry, at the moment. "You said I should have questioned the number of Senshi I saw in Crystal Tokyo. But how could I have known about Uranus and the others back then? We hadn't fought the Death Busters yet; our paths were far from crossing."

"Your logic seems solid enough." The king began to pace about, waving his wand as necessary – and sometimes not – for emphasis. "At the time, you had never met them, so, by all accounts, neither had I. But since then, the Outer System Senshi have been added to your – our – story. That was the first domino to topple, the first support beam to fall, in the beautiful kingdom you knew. The timeline changed, Mamoru. I -watched- it change before my eyes. Suddenly, they had always been there. I recalled back recent weeks, months, and all the memories that had before lacked them were different. Their participation in defending the Earth from the Black Moon family was quite impressive, and without them, we surely would have become the wasteland you remember."

"Wait. You're telling me that, when the timeline changed to include Uranus and the others—"

"The Black Moon never reached us. They landed their ship in the Sea of Japan and came marching inland, a sea of black drones, and those Senshi were there to greet them. Usako wanted to fight, but her four Guardians held her back, as did I. If the battle came too close to palace grounds, only then would we leave its walls." The king grimaced, as though recalling the memory left a sour taste in his mouth. "It was a wise decision, on our part. Yes, Mamoru, we stopped the Black Moon, but at a heavy price. Uranus, Neptune, Saturn…"

He paused, trying to gather himself. The hand that held his staff began to shake, as though it was a war injury he could not control. "We were watching; everyone was. Japan, the world – everyone saw the carnage unfolding on live television. The Senshi cut through their droid army as though they were paper dolls, and then stormed the ship. We don't know anything about what took place inside the ship for another half hour, but the next thing we knew, the enormous ship shot into space, hissing and sparking, as it split at the seams. About one hundred miles into the air, it exploded. It was the most beautiful, terrible thing I'd ever seen. It was like the greatest firecracker ever invented. It didn't even seem real, just a special effect in one of those awful Armageddon movies. But it was real. The clouds that filled the sky were real, blocking the sun for hours, then days, then weeks. The debris that washed up on shore, that had been strewn far inland, polluting the water systems, was real. The fact that six billion people had watched Sailor Senshi, the most powerful warriors the galaxy had ever known, become nothing more than vaporized ions was real."

King Endymion laughed. It was a dead laugh, carrying the weight of hundreds, thousands of dead, wounded, ill, crippled. "We were ruined, Mamoru. That ship had carried enough weapons – bombs, missiles, lasers, things we'd never dreamed of – to blow this planet out of the solar system. Not to mention the alien metals that made up the ship itself. The debris from the explosion changed everything it touched. Nothing was clean or safe anymore. Japan and the west coast of America felt it first. Most of the cities there are still almost entirely uninhabitable. You saw a crippled city, Mamoru. What I saw, what I -felt-, was a dying planet. All because you fought the Death Busters, and the Outer System Senshi joined your ranks."

Mamoru was still confused, confounded, and otherwise unconvinced. "But none of that was my fault. I didn't choose to meet Michiru on the street when she dropped her mirror. It just happened. I didn't cause the Black Moon ship to explode. How does -that- make me, as you say, 'the worst thing for this planet's future that could possibly exist?'"

Some of the king's original demeanor returned, and through the pain evident on his face, he smiled grimly. "Patience, child. I'm getting there." Mamoru bristled at the word, but remained silent. "The disintegration of our planet may have been more than enough to decimate what hope we had for a strong kingdom and a bright future, but I'm afraid that was only the beginning. Other enemies saw our chaotic state and weak defenses, and began to attack rampantly, shattering the peace we had enjoyed for so long. Our Sailor Senshi, already grieved by our losses, fought them off as best they could, but wounds were deep, and they grew deeper by the day. There were some of us who could not stand to be in the same room as each other, so great was our grief that century-long friendships collapsed into animosity." He gave Mamoru an ironic smirk. "I'm sure, given recent events, you can relate to this."

"To top it all off, another change to the timeline was made--what should have been a wonderful thing, but which immediately turned sour under the new circumstances. In your recent past, you fought the Dead Moon Circus and the Golden Crystal within you awoke. Rather than lending me new strength, it made me all the more sensitive to the planet's horrible state. Every pain of broken earth, every poison that seeped into its surface became mine to suffer on a constant basis. When I was not hospitalized and pumped full of enough drugs to make me nearly comatose, I was confined to a bed and in excruciating pain. Needless to say, I was unable to do much of anything in this state, least of all give the planet the strong leadership that it so dearly needed. Without me to help her, and with her own Senshi falling apart around her, Serenity closed in on herself. All her good intentions seemed to do nothing to change the sad state of her kingdom. It all seemed too little too late, and she began to give up. Her power, I'm afraid, faded with her. The Ginzuishou, as you are aware, is only as strong as the heart of its user. The most powerful crystal in the galaxy became little more than a trinket when ruled by a confused and bitter heart." Mamoru pictured his Usako, so sweet and shining and holding within her the power to create or destroy worlds. He could not imagine her broken and defeated, could not see the regal queen that she would become fading into an empty, frail woman, her purity tarnished.

The king took a shaky breath, and Mamoru noticed for the first time that he was not wearing a mask--not even the lavender one that the king he had known had worn. It made him look that much more vulnerable, with only the twisted scar to mar his face. "Somehow, through all of this, Chibi Usa, now Lady Serenity, and her Sailor Quartet, remained strong. They retained some of that shining optimism that our own team had once carried, and as they aged they fought bravely. When they made their final journey through time to aid Sailor Moon in fighting Galaxia, they were beginning to reach the peak of their potential. With that last battle with Galaxia, however, the queen's own will truly shattered. As each of us were killed in this time, she watched each of her loved ones--even the loyal felines who had aided her so much in my absence--fade from existence. Even when we returned, she was... not the woman she had been. The pain had been too great for her. She went into a depression that she never came out of. With both of us incapacitated, our daughter took over more and more of the responsibilities. Though she would not officially take the throne in our place as long as we both lived, she was queen in every other sense of the word."

He was no longer even looking at Mamoru, so lost was he in his own tale. Lavender eyes--they had not, Mamoru noticed, changed from the color they had been before, remaining the light purple that Endymion's hair had once been--gazed into the darkness beyond Mamoru's faint golden aura. "Contrary to many doubts about her abilities, Princess Lady Serenity proved herself to be more than capable, and for a time, it seemed that at last our kingdom was gaining the stability and strength it needed. Efforts were being made to reverse the effects of that devastating explosion that took place so many centuries ago, and slow as the process was, I was beginning to recover. Between the Sailor Quartet and what remained of the old Senshi, our enemies were held at bay, and the battles settled down to a more moderate level. For once, we began to have hope again..."

Everything about this conversation felt surreal to Mamoru. Here he was, listening to the words of a reflection of himself, listening to the events of a time that he could not fathom, hearing of the futures of people he was close to. He thought that he should be impatient, that he should be concerned about where all of this was leading, but he was somehow entranced by the king's words, drawn easily into the story despite himself. He did not even notice how his sword hung limp at his side, forgotten. 

"But our hopes were fleeting," the king continued. "New enemies came, pooled their resources, raced one another to be the first to bring us to our knees. I will not trouble you with names and details; there were so many. And then came the most devastating blow of all. She was taken." The king gripped his staff so tightly that his hand began to tremble again, and his eyes would not meet Mamoru's. His voice was barely a hoarse whisper. "Chibi Usa... it is unimaginable what was done to her. Through it all I could feel it. With these damn powers, I could feel what they were doing to my daughter. The rescue mission failed, most of our Senshi lost. And when they... when her death came, it was a mercy. For her suffering to end. The queen was inconsolable. She... followed soon after. By her own hand."

Silence stretched out as the king allowed that to sink in. Mamoru was barely breathing. He felt like his whole body had turned to ice, numb and motionless. The glow that surrounded him had dimmed almost to the point of darkness, but he failed to notice. Usako. Chibi Usa. They were... he had to remind himself that he was in a time that was hundreds, possibly thousands of years prior to these events, and that his Usako was safe at home, without a single care worse than whether she would pass her next math exam. But it did not change the raw knowledge that someday, someday they would die. They would die in pain. They would die needlessly. And all while he watched it happen.

"That was when I decided..." the king continued slowly, himself motionless and sagging, not at all the powerful ruler that he had seemed to be, "I decided that there could be no price greater than what we had paid. I decided that the risks involved in messing with the time continuum were nothing compared to the pain of leaving things as they were. I wanted to change everything that had ever happened to us. With even our time guardian gone, I had nothing to hold me back. I had studied extensively the cause and effect that created the changes made to our timeline when my daughter was still making her trips to the past. I now used my knowledge to study all the possible changes that could be brought about by adjusting the past."

He gave a bitter smirk. "My efforts, unfortunately, were mostly fruitless. It was impossible to prevent the events that caused things to go downhill in the first place--such as the attack of the Death Busters--and any other attempts at change would either make no difference or only worsen the situation. Somehow, the chain of events that created our living hell had become indestructible, and the fall of what we know as Crystal Tokyo, inevitable."

Endymion advanced on his stunned former self, who had cast his eyes on the floor, unable to fully understand the horrific story he'd just been told. "You see now, Mamoru? All we can do is stand back and watch as the people we love most are taken from us, as the planet we live and die for is consumed from the outside in. We can't fight. The Golden Crystal never was much good for anything, except to gather the pain from others like a bloody little satellite dish, and broadcast it back out a thousand fold. You found that out when you met your Shitennou, didn't you? You watched them hurt and hurt again, and you could never heal them fast enough.

"Would you like to know what your Shitennou are like in that future, Mamoru? Do you want to know what kind of suffering you cause them?" The king grabbed Mamoru's arm as though he intended to wrench it off. His grip was much stronger than Mamoru had anticipated. "Would you like to hear about Jed's endless drug addiction, his staggering police record? Neff's crippling, violent alcoholism that left more than its fair share of battered women – and men – in its wake? Malachi's horrific delusions of the Dark Kingdom, kept at bay by a potent drug cocktail that left him half-paralyzed, unable to function? Zory's futile struggles to keep them all alive, working three dead-end jobs, without any passion or hope for his future, watching his friends drown in a misery that they will never be able to describe? When I started this whole process, to fight you, I never had any idea that they would be reawakened. They had lived average lives, unknown to you, before you introduced them into our timeline. They were damned with the rest of us."

"I…don't want to believe it, but all of this…" Mamoru whispered, looking at the faint outline of his shoes, the bottom of Endymion's staff.

"You can't deny that the people we love, the planet we love, is only hurt by our existence, Mamoru. You know it as well as I do." The king's grip was a little less intense, though Mamoru could still feel the sting. "I couldn't eliminate all of the things that had happened to Crystal Tokyo by stopping the Death Busters, or any of that. I had to go back to you, at this critical time – away from Usako and the Senshi, so that there would be no interference. Had it not been for the Shitennou, the task would have been simple. They complicated matters infinitely, but they are a final, terrible example of the pain we cause."

King Endymion let go of Mamoru's arm, and took a step back. "When I revealed myself, you first asked me, 'why am I trying to kill you?' Do you see now, Mamoru? Has our terrible story explained it to you? At its simplest, it is a complicated form of suicide. We are useless, a burden, a catalyst for suffering; we always have been, and continue to be so. All we can do is allow horrible things to happen. I want that to stop before it ever begins. I want to kill you, so that you will never become King, so that I never exist, and the slate will be wiped clean. It will mean Small Lady, as you and I know her, will never exist. It will mean heartache for Usako. But is it a price I am willing to pay, in the hopes that my planet will not become a wasteland? Yes, I'm certain of it. Usako will always be Queen. The Earth will be the utopia it's destined to be. But it will happen without us."

He smiled his ugly, humorless smile. "By any means necessary."

Mamoru swallowed. "I still fail to see why my not existing would prevent any of that from happening. Okay, for the Shitennou, I understand, but everything else... I never caused any of that."

The king twirled his staff in his hands, watching the tarnished crystal at its top shimmer in the wane light. "You remember, Mamoru, how I said that Crystal Tokyo will inevitably be established, with the presence of a few important factors? There are only two necessary elements for its creation. The first is Serenity. The second is you, Mamoru. Do you see now? Without a Crystal Tokyo, there will never be a Black Moon Clan to attack us, and the dominos that fell after that first event will never occur. Something will arise in its place, certainly. But it will be nothing so grand and devastating as the one that would be brought about by your own hand. Earth will continue as it is, peacefully, normally. As I'm sure you can understand, I could never bring myself to destroy Usako, even after all these years. So I am left with only one option. To take myself out of the timeline."

Mamoru's sword slipped from his hand, and clattered to the floor.

-----

"Kunzite! Would you wait up?"

"Fuck, is he trying to run a marathon?" Jadeite whined, two other uniformed Shitennou at his heels. Kunzite had become a distant spot of white in the darkness, occasionally appearing in a swirl of dark cape beneath the glow of a streetlight. All of them, even when transformed, were feeling the effects of their injuries right now. Nephrite's aching lungs and throat were making him lag behind, and Jadeite was getting sharp pains in his ribs every time he took a step. But Kunzite, injured though he was, must have undergone some mighty quick healing, because he was showing no signs of slowing down. Whatever miraculous force had healed him must have also damaged his ears, because he was deaf to their shouts.

"I sure as hell hope we don't have to fight anything, because when we get there, I'm passing out."

"Are we sure we can't teleport there?" Zoisite panted. Out of all of them, he was in the best physical shape, having mostly been healed after Mamoru had nearly pounded him into oblivion. Where normally Jadeite was faster than anyone in the group, the smaller blonde now kept up with him easily.

"Can't," wheezed Nephrite from behind, using words sparingly between his attempts at breathing. "Someone sealed the base. Whole thing is blocked. Have to get there manually."

Zoisite's forehead creased in confusion. "Someone created a force field that huge? Who could do that?"

"Honestly," Jadeite watched Kunzite disappear into the Humanities building, a cold tingle up his spine, "I'm not sure I want to know."

-----

The silence stretched out as the king allowed his words to sink in. "How do I know I can believe you?" Mamoru asked suddenly, more boldly than he felt. "How do I know that you didn't make all this up? I mean, for all I know, you aren't even who you say you are. You could be just another clone like all the others."

His words were met with a bark of laughter from the king. "Well I must admit, Mamoru; I would be pretty disappointed with you if you did not at least question what I've been telling you. But come, now; you know as well as I do that I'm no clone. While you were pretty easily taken in by Lunette, who, I will have you know, was my best creation yet, even you could tell the difference, couldn't you? Those powers of yours aren't for nothing, Mamoru, loathe as you seem to be to use them to their fullest potential. You can sense what is human and what is not. I am no imitation. And this..." he raised his staff, presenting the golden sphere at the top in which the Golden Crystal could be seen glistening, "is no toy." He brought the tiny iridescent globe near the black-haired man's chest, and Mamoru was surprised to feel his own crystal flare up in opposition. Light shimmered out from both himself and the staff, but Mamoru could sense in the air the friction that crackled between the future and present crystals. The king smirked, the spider on his face shifting unpleasantly. "If the Ginzuishou of two different times touch, the planet can be destroyed. I wonder if the results would be the same with two Golden Crystals?"

He pulled the staff back, relieving the tension in the air, and leaned it up against the statue behind him. "But I'm not here to destroy the world. Rather, to save it."

Slowly, as if being poured from molten steel, the king's staff began to change its shape. It remained amorphous only for a moment, and then in a great flash, solidified. It was now a sword, not unlike the one at Mamoru's feet.

King Endymion held the blade out, turning it in the meager light, examining his handiwork. "Not bad. Not bad at all. I knew there was just enough left in it for one more party trick."

Realizing that the king intended to keep his word, and he was about to become a Prince-kabob, Mamoru scrambled to pick up his sword and prepare defend himself. Just as he was about to grab the hilt, the king lunged for him. He swung his own blade somewhat inexpertly, but managed to hit his mark. Mamoru yelped in pain and fell on his back, grasping at the new wound - the king had slashed him most of the way across his bicep, around his arm and to his back, and it was definitely no papercut. He could already feel warm blood trickling down his arm, and he clutched at his arm, trying to staunch the flow. His future self meant business.

The king kicked his sword to him, as though it was a small and unfortunate animal in his way. It rolled across the floor and came to a clattering stop next to his leg. He looked down his nose with a smug grin, twirling his somewhat bloody sword impatiently. "I suggest, Mamoru, you pay a little closer attention. I don't intend to pull any punches."

Mamoru gritted his teeth, swinging his feet underneath him to get his balance. He ignored a white flare of pain as he reached for his sword. It wasn't as bad as some he'd received recently, but it was going to make fighting difficult. Not impossible, just difficult.

A flash of silver, and pain exploded in his opposite shoulder, throwing Mamoru onto his side. "Hurry it up," the king ordered jauntily, "I'm a busy man, and I do not like to be kept waiting." The black-haired man hissed as he felt hot blood seeping from beneath his armor. The king was cutting beneath the tiniest of chinks in it, as though it were not even there. He was finding weaknesses in it that Mamoru himself was not aware of.

With all the speed and strength he could muster, Mamoru lunged for his sword a second time and pushed himself upright, rounding to face himself of the future. His mind raced with the new information the king had given him, the state of his future, the knowledge of his own horrible path. Was it right for him to be fighting back, knowing what he did? Should he struggle against what he himself of a different time had decided? Would it be better to give in, to resign himself to his fate? He sidestepped a slash of the king's blade, nearly having his ear taken off. His opponent had every possible advantage--he knew Mamoru in every way, knew every weakness, because he had once been Mamoru. Age seemed not to have slowed him at all; on the contrary, the purple-haired man's movements were quicker, sharper, more alert than those of Mamoru, who was already worn down by his fight with Lunette.

Mamoru swung wildly and was easily deflected, as though his every move had already been predicted. The king grimly held him off, did not allow his younger self a single opportunity to break through. He pushed Mamoru back, sent him stumbling across the uneven ground. Another slash, and a cut appeared across Mamoru's cheek. Not as deep as it could have been, thankfully, but deep enough that it stung, and blood quickly began to seep down his face.

His stomach sank as he realized that this battle could only end one way: past or future, he was going to die.

-----

He clattered through the darkened hallways, steel-tipped boots creating an unfamiliar echo in a building that was accustomed to soft-soled sneakers. Malachi's knowledge of the place led him unhesitatingly to where he needed to be. Left at the Coke machine, then right, then down another flight of stairs...

His cape was a swirl of brown and royal blue at his heels, the gold on his uniform glistening even in the dim light. His jacket was pristine and white, conveniently reset to the way it had been before the carnage of the most recent battle. Silver hair danced behind him, shimmering drop earrings dangling from his ears. He was a figure out of legend, strangely anachronistic in this place that he, as Malachi, knew so well. He passed by a painting of an armored knight seated on his white horse, and almost smiled at the irony.

Mamoru was still blocking him out. His efforts at getting an answer from him were futile. It was maddening, like screaming into a phone receiver and hearing nothing on the other end, not even sure whether he had been disconnected or if anyone could hear his frantic shouts. He was just short of sending out the telepathic equivalent of a global broadcast, which would make every human and inhuman organism on the campus with a scrap of intuition receive a message essentially saying, "have you seen this prince?" Considering he had no idea just what enemies he was up against, however, it did not seem at all prudent to alert all parties involved that he was on his way. He had to have some element of surprise, after all.

"Kunzite! Wait! One! Goddamn! Minute!"

The frustrated shouts of one blonde, slate-eyed guardian echoed up and down the corridor, accompanied by the sound of heavy breathing and the rattle of boots, reverberated all around him. Finally, the other three had caught up. What on Earth had taken them so long, anyway? He came to a stop, impatiently tapping his foot, as they came around the corner.

"Man, you'd think after choking me," Nephrite wheezed, bringing up the rear, "the guy would slow down just a little bit, for my benefit. But nooooo, we wouldn't want to do that. We'd rather have poor Nephrite just wheeze himself to death!"

"Are you quite finished yet?" Zoisite grumbled. "We heard you the first twenty times."

Jadeite shook his head, and steadied himself on the wall to catch his breath. "Man, I know we've got a Prince to save, but you just set yourself a record for landspeed, Kunzite! Getting there first won't do you any good; I love you to death, but with a broken shoulder--"

"Hey!" Zoisite marched up to their white-haired companion, examined him from head to toe with keen scrutiny, and then stood on his toes to get up into Kunzite's face. "And where, exactly, is your sling?"

Kunzite shrugged with the shoulder that wasn't broken. "I took it off. It was hindering my movement."

Zoisite made a noise that was somewhere between a snort and 'argh!' "It was hindering your movement! And what do you think will happen, Kunzite, if you don't keep it immobilized? You could damage it permanently!"

"And if I left it on, it might prevent me from doing something that could protect the Prince, which, considering his track record, could leave him permanently -dead-." Though it didn't register on his face, and he would never admit to it, Zoisite was quite intimidating when he wanted to be, despite the fact that Kunzite could probably sit on him. "Taking that into account, I'm not especially worried."

"God, you are such a pig-headed--"

"Guys!" Nephrite cut in, putting himself between the two guardians - with his back to Kunzite, just in case. "Catfight later, Prince's-ass-saving -now-. Okay? Okay."

Jadeite craned his neck, looking up and down the hallway. "Anyone remember where that vent was? We'll probably have to go in that way - it'll take too much time and energy to teleport."

"Egads!" Zoisite covered his mouth with a gloved hand, feigning shock. "Jadeite just had a good idea! He must be a clone! They've infiltrated our ranks!"

"Oh, cut it out, funny man." Nephrite rolled his eyes, and then stepped out of the long-haired sandwich. He pointed up another flight of stairs, to a custodial closet that had been fenced off with yellow tape, its door ajar. "I'm gonna go out on a limb and say it's over there."

-----

Mamoru slammed against the unyielding rock so hard that he was certain he had broken something. Blood was spilling from his nose (or maybe his mouth, though it may have been both). Gashes seemed to have sprung across his entire body, forming with such rapidness that they may have been mistaken for a fast-acting skin disease rather than battle wounds. If the king intended to take him apart one piece at a time, he was certainly doing a good job at it. It was as though the purple-haired man were toying with him--so many times he could have pressed the blade just a little closer, shoved just a little deeper, and Mamoru would have met a very swift and untimely end. But instead it was feather-light sweeps across his skin that brought on searing, hot pain and slicked the hilt of his sword with blood beneath his hand.

And it was wearing on him. As fast as the golden light surrounding him healed his wounds, he was still losing blood from every gaping slice in his skin, and his constant mobility was only helping to pump it out faster. He pushed himself shakily to his knees, and managed to get one foot beneath him before the king's blade came arching above him. He blocked it with his own matching sword, forced all his strength upward, away from himself and toward the king's chest, and managed to shove him away. It won him just enough time to get back up again.

Endymion chuckled darkly. He had barely a mark on him to show for their fight. "You surprise me, Mamoru. All I've told you, and still you fight back? A few days ago, you were practically throwing yourself at your enemies over one tiny lover's quarrel." He spun on his toes, aimed a backslash at his glowing opponent and was met with resistance from his twin sword. The prince gritted his teeth, struggling against the king's force. The purple-haired man sneered. "You would think, knowing that you are the cause of all this misery, that your very existence brings nothing but pain to those you love, that you would accept this. I would have thought that you would understand our position, here. I would have thought that you would value your loved ones more than yourself. I'm not doing this for myself, Mamoru. I'm doing it for the people you're so fond of protecting."

Though Mamoru wasn't about to admit it out loud, the king did have a point, in his own really obnoxious sort of way. If what everything he said was true - and really, what good would it do for him to lie? - then what was the purpose of fighting back? If he loved Usako, and Chibiusa, and the Shitennou as much as he said he did, wasn't it better just to let the King off him, than stay around on this mortal coil and screw everything up for the people he cared about? Why was he fighting?

"Maybe I don't believe you," Mamoru snapped. "Maybe…maybe I think you're full of shit, and maybe you aren't even my future self!"

Endymion stared at him in disbelief. "God, was I ever really that stupid?"

"Hey--"

"You don't believe I'm really your future self, huh? Then how would I know that up until the age of eight, you couldn't get into a car without screaming? That you used to sit next to Tanaka Yuuko every day in third year of junior high, not because you especially liked her, but she smelled just like your mother? That right when you died before Usako's eyes, the Golden Crystal held tightly in Galaxia's claws, your last thought was 'I really should have taken out that life insurance policy?' That--"

"Okay! Okay, I get it already!" Mamoru pinched the bridge of his nose. While a simple clone might know about their battles, might even know the civilian identities of the Senshi, there was no way of knowing such intimate details of his childhood (and what he was thinking at the exact moment he died in the airport). Unless…

"So, are you done putting up a fight yet?" the king queried. "I'm getting awfully sick of waiting around to die."

Mamoru hesitated, and he would be lying to himself if he did not admit that he was seriously considering it. But it seemed... odd, somehow, to fight so long, to come so far, only to meet such an anticlimactic end. If he gave up now, then what was the point of any of that? Why had he struggled through the past three days, shed blood, sweat, tears, if all it meant was that he was prolonging the inevitable? He had faced this same decision before. In the playground, with the little lolita girl and her oversized butter knife, he had tried to give up. But in the end the choice had been taken out of his hands, hadn't it? The lethal blow that had been intended for him had been stopped. Because Kunzite had taken it for him, just as any of his Shitennou would have done. Kunzite, who had jumped in front of him without hesitation. Kunzite, who daily endured his own internal battles, just to be with his Prince again.

"If I did that..." Mamoru said softly, so softly that the other Endymion could barely hear him. He twisted the hilt of his sword beneath his hands--when had they parted blades, anyway?--and stared down at the ornate design in the metal. "If I did that," he repeated carefully, as though to keep the tremor from his voice, "then what would happen to them? You make it all sound so neat and painless--take me out of the timeline and everything will be perfect again. You're right, Usako will be fine. She'll always be fine. And she'll always have exactly the kind of support she needs, no matter what happens to me. But you said nothing about them. They wouldn't be, would they? This would kill them... beginning with Malachi. I don't even want to think about what would happen to him... to them."

The king sneered. "You would rather they suffer?"

"They would suffer more without me! You can't pretend that they wouldn't. To me I'm nothing; my life would mean nothing compared to this planet and the people around me. But I mean everything to them. I'm everything that they live for. If I were to die... they would not even hesitate to follow me. And that's just not a decision that I can make. I would sacrifice myself. But them... I can't sacrifice them."

The purple-haired king shook his head incredulously. "It's easy to forget that I was ever such a child. You have not even learned yet that the lives of four people are nothing compared to the wellbeing of many. You cannot even begin to understand how little they are truly worth in the grand scheme of things."

"I also fail to understand how I could ever become someone who thinks so little of the people who fight for him," Mamoru snapped, his loathing of his future self growing by the minute.

The king shrugged. "What can I say? Rule the planet for a couple hundred years, and you start thinking a little differently."

"Then I'll hope to never become what you are."

The future Endymion raised his sword again. "Oh, trust me, Mamoru. You won't."

-----

Kunzite stepped over the yellow tape and kicked the charred door rudely aside, causing it to lurch on its single unbroken hinge. Everything inside was blackened, wood reduced to splinters, metal twisted into knots, plastic bottles melted into surfaces. A normal human being caught in such a blast would have been, at the very least, seriously injured. At most... well, it was fortunate that they had a very durable Prince. The destroyed air vent gaped at the back, appearing suspiciously large, and he passingly wondered whether anyone had questioned why a utility closet required an air vent large enough to fit a grown man inside. He vaguely thought that perhaps they should track down some blueprints to see whether any other suspicious passageways led to the underground base, but at the moment he had much more urgent matters to attend to.

"Hold on!" Zoisite snapped, grabbing his uninjured arm. "You're not going down there first."

The white-haired man shook off the small blonde. "Like hell I'm not." Ignoring further protests, he hesitated only a second on the crumbling edge of the dark, yawning hole at his feet, before stepping neatly off the floor, and vanishing in a swirl of cape.

"Is he fucking mental?" Jadeite shouted, stumbling over the yellow tape as he nearly got his foot caught in it. "There could be anything waiting for him at the bottom of that vent! Wouldn't it be a good idea to, I don't know, check it out first?"

"You're right, Jadeite," Nephrite confirmed, hobbling over the tape. "We should have sent you down first as a test dummy. Then at least it wouldn't be any real loss if there were danger at the bottom."

"Oh, ha ha. Watch me fall over with laughter. Just don't complain to me when we're short one leader."

-----

He landed, catlike, on his feet, but not without lurching to his knee, clutching his broken shoulder. Kunzite hissed a curse under his breath. Okay, so maybe Zoisite had been partially right about keeping it immobile. Banging his way down an air vent was not exactly the wisest thing to do to his injury, especially with his sling removed. But he would not be letting the blonde know that he had been right any time soon, and it was not the time to be worrying about himself just yet. He hastily got to his feet and moved away from the vent, for fear that someone else would come crashing on top of his head, and began to investigate his surroundings.

What he saw brought on a much louder and more colorful curse.

It was nearly pitch dark down here, but his eyes adjusted quickly (having power over darkness carried some advantages, after all). But even with the benefit of sight, the situation remained frustrating. Nothing but archways in every direction, each one as dark as the next. And no clue as to which one lead where. He had accompanied his Prince down here the first time, but he had been sitting in his pocket at the time, and thus missed out on seeing the direction he had taken. Kunzite turned furiously, staring at each archway in turn, as though some clue could tell him what direction Mamoru had taken, but every one of them looked infuriatingly alike, and the purple light that had first attracted the dark-haired man down one of them was nowhere to be seen.

He glared up at the vent he had recently vacated, clenching his jaw to keep from shouting up at it that they had better hurry up and get the fuck down here, or they would be paying for it when they finally did.

Fortunately, they were saved from their imminent rebuking, as a shrieking Jadeite came rumbling down the vent, landing squarely on his solar plexus, in what could have been his greatest unintentional belly flop (at least since that time they had the inflatable pool out in the courtyard). For their parts, Nephrite and Zoisite managed the descent with a little more grace, though they definitely did not stick their landings, either.

Kunzite eyed them with no small amount of annoyance. "You know, for people who were taught to sneak up on the enemy, you guys are pretty shit at it."

"We learned from the best, you know." Nephrite brushed off his cape and straightened out his jacket cuffs, trying to regain some of his dignity (which is hard to do, when you end up landing quite primly on your rump).

The chocolate-haired guardian did his best to examine the locale, though he himself did not have the benefit of night time vision. It was, to say the least, a very strange sort of nostalgia. He knew this place, suddenly; the blueprints unfolded in his mind as though he had simply found them in the record room. He remembered being here, remembered the way it smelled, remembered the way everything felt damp and moldy, remembered "do not fail me again, Nephrite, or I will not hesitate to simply feed you to Metallia-sama herself!"

Zoisite noticed Nephrite's full body shudder. "Hey, man, are you--"

"Fine. I'm fine." Nephrite rubbed his forehead, as though there was a memory in there that was trying to physically work its way out, and he was pressing it back with two fingers. "It's nothing."

The small blonde didn't believe him for one second. Before he could offer any sympathetic words, however, Kunzite took off down the hall, suddenly struck with an idea - or maybe just a late onset of complete madness, no one was entirely sure.

"Hey!" Jadeite exclaimed, finally getting to his feet. "Christ, man, could we at least execute a plan before you--"

"Either get off your asses and follow me or go home!" the white haired man bellowed, disappearing into one of the many divergent hallways.

The three remaining guardians exchanged a look of sheer exasperation, shaking their heads.

"Next time we see the Prince, I'm having a serious talk with him about this whole 'Kunzite is the esteemed leader' business," Jadeite groused, as they all proceeded to chase down the aforementioned esteemed leader, not knowing what, exactly, he'd just gotten them into.

"Kunzite, for fuck's sake!" Zoisite shouted, doing his very best to catch up with him.

"Nephrite, doesn't this hall..." Jadeite panted, catching what glimpses he dared of the doorways that opened onto blackness on either side.

"Yeah, it does." The brunette wheezed back, somehow managing to keep pace with him. "Don't know how Kunzite knew that, though."

Kunzite should have known better than to try and outrun a small, enraged blonde whose patron animal was a firebird, because somehow Zoisite's shorter legs carried him within reach of his white-haired leader, at which point he grabbed a fistful of brown cape that trailed behind him and pulled as hard as his thin body would allow. The effect achieved by this was that Kunzite was very nearly strangled by his own momentum, and stopped short to prevent such a thing from happening.

"Just what, may I ask, are you doing?" The white-haired man rounded on Zoisite.

"Getting you to listen, since you have apparently gone entirely deaf today. Has it ever occurred to you that we might do with some kind of plan of action before we go running into the unknown? And what makes you think you have any idea of where you're going?"

Kunzite glared at the other Shitennou as though they had overlooked some incredibly obvious thing. "You can't tell me you don't feel that."

Zoisite wanted to snap something sarcastic back, but his leader's words were like opening a door he had forgotten was there. And on the other side of the door was... light. Warm, living light that danced and flickered like the flame of a candle, so completely real that he could almost see it there in that dark hallway. Why hadn't he noticed before...?

"He's been blocking our senses, somehow." Kunzite answered, as though reading what was on all of their minds. "He's been keeping himself hidden from us so we wouldn't do exactly what we're doing now. Now you can go ahead and keep bickering with me, but somewhere down that hall the Prince is fighting on his own, and I've got a feeling that he's in no shape to be doing it."

He was met with silence, which Kunzite took to be unanimous agreement. With a stern look that said they would be wise not to be questioning his sanity in the near future, he recovered his cape from Zoisite's grasp and took off at a brisk pace down the shadowy hall. 

It was a long, narrow passage, which met up with a second one on the far end, creating an L shape. When he made it around the corner, the other Shitennou well behind him now, something struck him square in the chest. White hot pain exploded in his shoulder as he was thrown back against the wall, a yelp escaping his lips. He staggered, his legs nearly giving out beneath him, but the pain resounding through his body did nothing to prepare him for what he saw when he looked up at his assailant.

A figure loomed over him, silhouetted against some dim, flickering light that trailed from around the corner. He was a tall, imposing person, with a cape draping from his shoulders to the floor and long, straight hair framing his face. His lips curled in a humorless sneer at Kunzite, whose stomach curdled as he thought that he had walked into one of his own most terrifying nightmares. No words would come to his throat, but in his mind all he could think was//how did he get out? How could he--/

"Miss me?" Staring at him with quicksilver eyes, glinting like the shine on the edge of tempered steel, was the other side of the looking glass. Kunzite, Lord of the Dark Kingdom, Feared Taskmaster, and All Around Unfriendly Bastard. He seemed bigger, more imposing than Kunzite himself ever remembered - he had apparently been quite the intimidating sight. His face was impassive, sharp features set in a neutral mask, apparently not too concerned with the damage he had cause his other half, or the unparalleled ruckus going on behind him.

Kunzite rubbed in vain at his now reinjured shoulder, wishing that maybe he'd listened to Zoisite just this once - much too late for that now, though. He hissed through his teeth at the white hot ache, a noise that gave his unfriendly other half a reason to smirk.

"I'll take that as a no."

"Why are you here?" Kunzite tried to stand, but the Dark Kingdom minion anticipated the move, and before he could even register any movement, he was on the receiving end of a rock hard punch to his throbbing shoulder, which sent him sailing backwards again with a grunt, this time sliding all the way to the floor.

His other self looked down with a certain sense of satisfaction, but was not given the time to respond - whatever biting remark he had in mind was interrupted by the clatter of boots around the corner, and a chorus of horrified gasps.

Even in the darkness, the trio could see the scene with horrifying clarity. Their leader, slumped against the wall, in obvious pain. And towering over him, a figure that looked, for a moment, like he was also their leader. His silver hair glistened as he turned his head, and he fixed them with steel grey eyes that caused an ice cold fist to clench in their guts. Jadeite and Zoisite stood frozen, unable to speak or breathe, but Nephrite pushed past them both, immediately on the offensive. 

Red flashed for a moment, somewhere near his forehead, and then it turned to white, and suddenly he was standing behind the form of an immense ethereal tiger. It flicked its tail, ears back, eyeing the person before it with sharp, metallic eyes. 

Somehow Zoisite managed to snap out of his initial shock. "Nephrite, wait! What if it's not--"

"I'm not waiting to find out," the brunette answered grimly, and the tiger began to charge.

It was as fast as, well, as fast as the wind. Giant and ferocious and little more than a blur in that narrow tunnel, it moved so fast that Kunzite, whoever or whatever he was, would barely have had time to dodge. But he didn't dodge.

He smirked.

As the tiger neared, the grey-eyed man swung a fist, rolling his body away from where the creature would have struck. With a terrible roar, the ghostly feline was flung against the wall as easily as the other, wounded Kunzite had been, and promptly vanished in a coil of wind.

He turned back to face the three remaining Shitennou. "Nice to see you, too."

"Why you--" Nephrite, not waiting long enough to be stunned, launched right into a good old fashioned physical assault. He lunged at the doppelganger, fist at the ready--

--which found itself in a vice strong grip, as easily as a fly ball caught on the baseball field.

The Kunzite double shook his head. "Still too slow, Nephrite. Much too slow."

Nephrite growled in response, trying to wrench his hand away, but the more he pulled, the harder his opponent clamped down on it. He tried another tactic - dropping low, he swung out his legs and attempted to trip Kunzite - but Kunzite thought faster, and before Nephrite had even connected the blow, he found a knee connecting sharply with his spine, and a sheet of blinding pain across his vision. Not one to let a victim go so easily, Kunzite grabbed the smaller Shitennou by his neck (unkind even in normal fighting circumstances, downright cruel on this day), and, hauling him to his feet like a rag doll, simply smashed his skull against a nearby pillar.

"Okay, jackoff, that's quite enough." Jadeite was not going to let that slide, no sir, and before you could say 'oh, come, now, there's no need for name-calling', the blonde had already summoned a very large, very angry water dragon. It sent a spray of sharp, cold mist through the air, but when it veered off to the side at the last second and dissipated into the air, the Dark Kingdom lord was ready with a derisive laugh.

"Still can't fight worth shit, can you, Jadeite?" he spat. "You honestly think you can knock me out that way?"

Jadeite, for his own part, was grinning from ear to ear. "Wasn't trying to, asshole."

Before he could even manage a 'huh?', the water dragon had reformed right over his head, and seeming to grin its own triumphant grin, executed a very remarkable piledriver that left their once exultant opponent in a heap on the floor - and, if one listened hard enough, one could almost swear he was whimpering.

Meanwhile, almost entirely oblivious to the two concurrent fights, Zoisite was tending to the real Kunzite, who was still in immeasurable pain.

"Just had to take the sling off, didn't you," Zoisite reproved, though it was mostly a weary resignation, not an actual reprimand. He gently prodded at his friend's collar bone, and could not hide a wince when Kunzite visibly bit back a pained yelp. "What'd he do to you, anyway?"

"Hit me," he managed to grind out over clenched teeth. "Knew just where, too. Something very fishy about it."

"You little bitch." The mysterious double stirred on the floor as Jadeite helped a groaning and coughing Nephrite to his feet. Still gasping for breath and looking like he was going to be sick with every heave of his chest, he pulled away from the blonde and grasped at the wall. Jadeite thought he could see blood glistening in his long hair, but it was hard to tell in this light. "Jadeite... don't... don't stop. Gotta... take him out."

"You might want to listen to him." The doppelganger sat up, an unpleasant smirk on his lips. He casually inspected his left hand, where blood showed beneath the cuff of his sleeve. As if fearing nothing from his potential opponent, he took a moment to lift the hand to his mouth and lick some of the blood away.

"Well, shit," the blonde muttered, not entirely sure he had any more tricks up his sleeve. His dragon appeared again, hissing vehemently at its still-standing opponent. It slithered rapidly through the air, poised to strike. 

The double was on his feet with lighting speed, and when the water serpent struck, he was ready. There was a tremendous crash, like the sound of an immense wave falling, and the next thing that anyone knew, the dragon was struggling and thrashing about with the second Kunzite's hand clenched around its throat.

"Oh, you have got to be shitting me!" Jadeite gaped as he watched his creature--his own creature that was composed purely of water, mind you--helpless in the grip of the second Kunzite.

With a flick of his wrist and a cruel smile, the doppelganger snapped the water dragon's neck, and it dissipated in a cold spray. The hallway was deadly silent for a few too long moments, everyone taking stock of the others, trying to find a weakness, a next move.

Zoisite shot a conflicted look at his leader, who still could not stand up, try though he might. Kunzite waved him on with his good hand, a clear invitation to 'go kick some butt already, I'll languish here on the floor, no big.' So it was with the intention to kick butt that with clap of his hands -- "and I swear to God, if one person makes a comment about fairies, I'm going to dance on their spleen" - and in a flash of heat, a firebird sprang to life out of the concrete. It was seconds away from taking flight when a familiar scream stopped the little blonde dead in his tracks, the firebird gone in a hiss of smoke.

"Prince!" The reaction was like a reflex - in their varying states of injury, each of them lunged for the unprotected doorway. Not one of them reached it before the Dark Kingdom lord, however, and with a simple shrug, he sent them all flying. Four distinct groans brought another pleased smile to his face.

"Not today, lads. I'm here for crowd control. Been given very strict instructions for you not to interfere." The double circled the four prone forms, kicking his better half in the shoulder just to hear him scream in pain. "Tsk, you've gotten soft. I'd never scream like that…"

"Good thing I'm not you, then," Kunzite hissed, desperately trying to get to his feet. Zoisite scrambled toward him with intent to help, but was intercepted by another careless shrug by the doppelganger. The small blonde shrieked as he was sent flying into the darkness of the unlit hallway, and hit something hard with an unhappy thud.

The white haired leader growled low in his throat. "I am so sick of you, you know that?"

"Never would have guessed. Come on, kid, are you going to stand and fight, or just languish on the ground? Your Prince--"

"Don't you say one word about my Prince."

A clever retort seemed ready on the doppelganger's lips, but Kunzite was ready for it. Out of the infinite shadows to his left came two sparkling eyes, and then--

A bone crunching sound, like a building being toppled, shook all the walls and sent debris falling from the roof. To his credit, the tortoise smiled serenely down at its creator, having executed a brilliant belly flop right on their foe. He could be heard screaming muffled obscenities from beneath the creature's underbelly, but try though he might, he could neither make it move nor escape its brute force. Kunzite knew its longevity was limited, and this was their chance to get in. They had one shot.

"In or out, guys, we need to go now!" Against his better judgment, he used both arms to vault to his feet. The resultant pain was just about enough to kill him where he stood, but he'd suffered worse and would probably again. There was no longer time to be wasted. This ended now.

-----

"It's been fun, Mamoru," said the King, easily dodging a clumsy thrust, "but this has to end now."

Mamoru said nothing in reply, but continued to swing. It was now easier to ask where he wasn't injured - what remained of his clothes held itself together by a few haggard seams and buttons. His cape had been cut nearly in half, dangling by a few stubborn threads. His armor looked like it had just been salvaged from the junkyard. A cut from his forehead to his chin looked like it could split his face in two if a stiff breeze came along. He was a dead man walking.

But at least he was still walking.

---

The white-haired man lunged forward, three other Shitennou fast at his heels. At the end of the corridor he could see flickering shadows, what should have been the Beryl statue somehow changed into some grotesque abstract shape. And then two forms danced into view before it--a dark silhouette that was a stranger to him, and a second one of golden light, whose aura looked dimmer than it should have been, and who looked like he should not have been standing. "Prince!" Kunzite redoubled his efforts, every part of his body screaming in protest, his eyes never leaving his Prince-  
He struck something with all the unrelenting solidity of a concrete wall, unable to stop the shout of pain as his shoulder grinded with the impact. He sank to his knees against the corner--where the real stone wall met the invisible barrier he had collided with, very much defeated. "Prince--oh fuck." He leaned his head against the transparent wall, but nothing would make it any less tangible and solid, and still he could see, tauntingly close, his Prince bleeding and hurt and entirely on his own.  
"Oh no..." Zoisite put his fingertips to the barrier, as though watching his friend make a very painful collision with it was not enough to verify its existence. Touching it was like touching the clearest, coldest glass. Jadeite forced himself to turn his back to the barrier and to the sight of his Prince and that ominous foe, before their own adversary took advantage of their grief. What he saw made his heart drop into his knees. "Guys"  
Their opponent was already on his feet, which would have been expected, if Kunzite's tortoise had disappeared. But... it had not yet disappeared. The strange man had somehow pulled himself out from beneath its immense bulk--so immense, in fact, that a good portion of it seemed to disappear into the wall--and was standing before the creature's massive head, and--Jadeite could think of no reason for it--petting the thing. In a way that could almost be called loving, his hand moved up and down the tortoise's black jeweled beak. The tortoise opened its incredible wisely smiling beak, just as Jadeite had seen it do to devour their enemies, and then proceeded to nip playfully at his hair. "What the hell are you?" Nephrite growled.  
"It's a funny thing about tortoises," the doppelganger stated conversationally, as the black giant nudged at his cheek. "They don't see incredibly well. They aren't able to, for example, judge eye color. And yet they can navigate themselves with greater precision than any man-made device ever could. This is because they employ senses that humankind cannot even begin to fathom. They sense things that people do not." The tortoise gave a final affectionate nip at his bangs before vanishing into the darkness.

"You aren't Beryl's Kunzite," Zoisite said slowly, reluctant to take his eyes off of Mamoru for one instant.  
The double smiled his unpleasant smile. "He tried, sometimes, to summon her, but she would never come to him. If he had succeeded, likely she would have crushed him. She never did much like the Dark Kingdom." It took Jadeite a moment to realize that "she" was the tortoise, and it was a strange sort of revelation to realize that Kunzite's pet monster was female. He supposed he had never bothered to ask before. "If your apparent leader had been a little bit wiser, he would have figured out immediately that there are very firm seals in that part of his mind that would have set off warning bells if they were disturbed.  
Zoisite dared to glance at the aforementioned leader, wondering how he was taking this, but he seemed not to hear a word of it. His eyes were riveted on the battle raging beyond the barrier. "Prince..." he muttered through gritted teeth.  
His twin sighed. "Oh dear, did I break him already? He's certainly much weaker than I expected"  
"You didn't answer my question," Nephrite said sharply. He looked like he had recovered slightly from the struggle, as he was no longer leaning on the wall for support. "What are you, just another clone"  
"Haven't you noticed," the doppelganger replied, "that every clone you have encountered is nothing more than some inferior mutation of the original, and not at all a perfect copy?" He smirked. "As you can see, the inferior one in this room is certainly not me"  
"I really hate to break it to you, buddy, but you've got pink hair. That? That is pretty damn inferior." It had been so hard to see it through the darkness, but as the only light in the place--that golden, flickering light that ever reminded them of how desperate they were to get to their Prince--moved into just the right places, they could see the pinkish tint near the doppelganger's scalp, fading into the colorless white that they were so familiar with as it neared the tips. The man ran his fingers through his hair. "I rather like it, myself."

No one seemed much interested, though, and an unsettling quiet settled over everything, punctuated only by the deadened clanks and clangs of a swordfight slowly being lost. Mamoru had clearly been fighting a long, long time - if he doesn't die, I'm going to kill him, thought Kunzite sharply - and whoever this enemy was, they clearly knew his every move before he even made it. That, too, seemed strange. Just like…

"Amazing, isn't he? Not your Prince, don't be silly, I mean him." The Dark Kingdom lord pointed to the silhouette, with an undeniable reverence. "He's everything your precious Mamoru always had the capacity for, but refused to be. Ruthless. Vengeful. Brilliantly cruel. It's a shame they both have to go."

"What?" The stunned query came from four places at once, every Shitennou trying to piece that information together.

Zoisite got his act together first. "You don't mean--"

"What, he's fighting himself? You can't honestly expect me to believe you didn't see it coming." Mamoru screamed as his opponent took a cheap shot at his legs, slicing near through his calves, sending him toppling to the floor. The sight brought a happy sigh to the doppelganger's lips. "Taught him everything I know. Beautiful, just beautiful. And the end must be in sight, if he's playing that dirty." 

"PRINCE!" Though it was futile and he knew it, Kunzite pounded on the barrier with one hand, desperate to make any noise, cause just the tiniest splinter that would open the barrier up, to show his Prince they were there, he wasn't going to die, he wasn't… "Prince, please, hang on! We're coming! Mamoru!"

"Soundproof, my little cabbage. Good college try, though. The punching was a nice touch." Kunzite was now face to face with himself, a snake's grin on the mirror's surface. "Does it hurt, knowing you can't help? That he's maybe got a minute left, and you're over here, crippled and whimpering? Does it wound you to your very core? I certainly hope so."

"You foul, disgusting waste of oxygen. Even Hell wouldn't take you."

His double smiled nastily. "That's why they gave me to you."

"There must be something we can do," Jadeite whispered to Zoisite, his level of panic rising with every syllable. "Can't we attack the barrier with all we've got? Bam, bam! Tiger, tortoise, a little dragon for good measure, crack it wide open?"

"And risk it ricocheting back on us?"

"It's our only shot, Zoisite! I'm not just going to stand idly by while--"

"NO!"

All strategizing was interrupted by Nephrite's sudden outburst - Kunzite had to look away from the staredown --

"Oh my God. Prince!"

-----

Mamoru struggled to get to his feet, but it was absolutely no use, not with the King standing on his chest, all of his weight leaned in. It was certainly not helping the breathing process, either.

"Game over, I win. Or I lose. Or both!" The king leaned over his younger self, a weary smile on his face. "You fought hard. I didn't realize I had that much in me when I was younger. It's a shame it never did anybody any good."

Desperately defiant to the last, though he could not stand and fight anymore, Mamoru did the one thing he'd been wanting to do all evening - he spat directly in Endymion's face, all the better because his mouth was full of blood. For his part, the king simply wiped a glove across his face, acquiring all sorts of very icky colors.

"Trust me, I've had a lot worse thrown in my face the last six hundred years." As though he was picking up a wayward shovel, the king kicked Mamoru harshly in the chest, just to get his momentum going, and ignoring the desperate body-wracking coughs, grabbed the younger prince by his throat and squeezed just a little too tight.

Mamoru did not want to think 'so this is the end.' He wanted to believe that he'd suddenly get another surge of energy, refreshed and renewed, and he'd just blow his future self's head off like a piñata at a birthday party. But above all else, Mamoru was a realistic guy. The King had done this on purpose. He had worn his past self down to the end of his last reserve, that not even the Crystal could hope to refill now. He could barely think, let alone fight back. The best he could do was glare defiantly to the last.

"I hope you know," he said weakly, stifled by the king's hand, "how much you're going to hurt Usako. How deeply you're going to break her. I hope, in this minute, you think about her, up in that room with the rabbits and pink sheets, every last bit of her innocence, crying herself dry. The girl we'd give anything for, just to make sure she never cried or wanted for anything. I hope the image of her makes your last minutes in this timeline the most unbearable of anything you've ever imagined."

"I don't have to imagine the unbearable, Mamoru. I lived it. I was cursed with longevity for the sake of my planet, and I'm going to save that planet as the last thing I ever do." There was something in the king's eyes - just the tiniest glint of honest to God remorse. "Usako will pick up the pieces. She fought Galaxia, for Christ's sake, with no one by her side, with only the strength of her will. But I have only ever brought her suffering. It's over. Yours, mine, hers. Over."

Surprisingly, the last thing Mamoru heard was a desperate, almost throaty "I'm sorry, Mamoru." And then--

The king clenched his free hand into fist and literally put it through Mamoru's chest - there was no blood, no ripping of flesh, he simply pushed his way through as though the black haired man had simply been made out of cardboard. Mamoru let out an ear-shattering scream as the king reached further, grabbing for something, rummaging around as though in a box in someone's attic. Finally, deep within the ribcage, still a little warm - the Golden Crystal.

Over the sound of his own screams, a voice that both was and was not his own flooded his head in the most deafening of whispers. "I'll let you have this one parting gift, Mamoru. Look to your right. Look at them just one last time."

How he could have done it, with the immeasurable pain and the ice cold hand clamped around the center of his very being, he could not imagine. But somehow his head rolled to the side. Somehow his eyes opened. Somehow he could see, through the light of his own soul flickering on their horrified faces, his four guardians, frozen in fear, watching him take his final breaths. And the last thing that Chiba Mamoru ever did, before the end came, was beg--his future self, fate, or any invisible entity that may have been listening--that they would not have to watch it happen.

But they did.

The King's hand tightened into an iron grip around the Golden Crystal, and Mamoru's breath froze in his throat, his mouth open in a final, silent scream. "Goodbye, Mamoru." And in one single motion, the Golden Crystal was ripped from his chest.

His body seemed, to Kunzite, to fall in slow motion. His eyes rolled up and his head tilted back, his arms fell slack at his sides and his legs lost their strength, or their will, to stay up. And then he hit the floor, with what appeared to be such a painful, undignified crash that Kunzite nearly winced, as though he actually thought that Mamoru could feel either of these things. The heap of fallen Prince lay at the King's feet, and did not move again. Above, an immaculate golden flower bloomed in the King's hand--the golden crystal, in all it's unbridled glory. It was the only source of light in that vast hall, and it cast the scene in a surreal, unearthly glow.

It seemed, for a moment, that the whole world held its breath.

Kunzite did not remember feeling the barrier vanish before him, only that he was scrambling forward--first on his knees, then lurching to his feet--all his senses numbed, and the form of his Prince getting closer and closer. And then he was there, and scooping him up in his one good arm, cradling his head in his lap. It was okay, now. He was here, and it was going to be okay, just like it always was...

Zoisite knelt beside his Prince, and all he could see were his partially lidded eyes, and their vacant blue depths gazing out at nothing. He pressed a tentative hand to Mamoru's throat, paused as long as he could hold his breath. And then he pulled his hand back as though burned, and clasped it to his mouth instead.

"Zoisite," Jadeite half-whispered, as though fearing that he would wake their Prince, "is he...?"

Zoisite shook his head, and tears were already streaming down his face. "There's no pulse," he uttered between knitted fingers.

Nephrite stumbled back, away from the very real nightmare before him, away from his greatest horror come true. He turned and saw the King, who had released the Golden Crystal and allowed it to hover between them, the light blinding the brunette partially obscuring the other man so he appeared to barely exist at all. Leaning against what remained of the shattered statue, he seemed impassive to all that was happening. He was seeing their grief, and seeing him, and he didn't care at all.

Suddenly every ounce of pain inside Nephrite turned to blinding rage, and he sprang upon the lavender-haired King with a snarl no less terrifying than if his tiger had uttered it. He aimed his fist for the very center of the King's face, swinging with the weight of his entire body.

His knuckles collided with solid marble, shattering its surface and nearly shattering his hand in the process. He stared, stunned, seeing his hand running straight through the center of the King's head up to the wrist. He could even see its outline, and it was becoming more visible by the second. He pulled his hand out, and saw that the King was no longer as tangible, as real, as he had once been. He looked at Nephrite with weary, sober eyes. "Your Prince is dying, Nephrite. And so am I."

-------------------------

So.

Hi, everybody.

We bet you've been wondering where we've been, and why this took us so damn long.

If it's any consolation, Anne got a 4.0 last quarter? ...We thought not.

In the event that you have questions about this chapter or the one that follows - sorry. We're not spoiling a darn thing, because that's no fun at all. However, we promise it will not, we repeat, will -not- take us six months to finish the next chapter and explain everything you want to know and stuff.

Thanks for your patience, everybody. We hope this was worth your wait.

(PS: To Shabopo - yes, Anne does indeed live in the Bay Area, also about 10-15 minutes from Palo Alto. Should you want to know exaclty where, please don't hesitate to harrass her via email.) 


	12. Chapter 11

Bleed (Just to Know You're Alive)  
Chapter 11

------

As though he was made of only paper, the King slumped to the ground, his legs lost beneath him. His hand was no longer completely solid, and try as he would to grip the Golden Crystal, it simply melted through his palm and clattered to the floor without shattering. It was clear that the Crystal was not going to survive long outside of its host; the light in the room was slowly dimming, the powerful aura drained to its last.

Jadeite picked up the fallen crystal reverently, holding it reverently. It felt like a sin, holding his Prince's very essence, like it was a taboo he was breaking. But it certainly deserved better than to be discarded on the floor. He held it close to his chest, almost like he was trying to keep its warmth in, absorb it and keep it safe. "Prince..."

"Why? Why would you do this to yourself?" Nephrite growled. "How could you do this to us?"

"I have already told my story. I want my last moments to be free of my burden." The king smiled a joyless smile at Nephrite. "If there is one thing I learned from you four, it is that our planet comes first. I didn't listen to you once, and everything was lost. You did once say I was a quick learner."

"And there was no other way than to rip yourself from the people who love you?"

"You don't think I would have done it if there was?"

"From what you've showed us? No. I don't." Nephrite looked down on him with utter contempt. "I hope you rot in Hell. I hope you're sorry every day for eternity for what you've done!"

"You lied to me, Prince." Kunzite touched Mamoru's face with a mothering gentility, careful of the long gash on his face, the blood flow stopped by the cessation of his heart. "You swore…you swore you wouldn't fight alone, and now look what you've done…"

"Kunzite." Zoisite put his hand on Kunzite's arm, trying to steady him, but his leader was clearly losing it, and no reassuring touch was going to fix him.

The white-haired man began to shake, first in his hands, then in his shoulders, then in his entire body. Long bangs shielded the first flow of tears. "How could you do this to us, Prince? How could you leave us? You said you loved us, Prince…"

"There must be something we can do." Jadeite walked to them, solemnly, still holding the Crystal as though the touch of his fingers might break it.

"The Crystal has no power left," the King said, conversationally, now little more than a faint ghost at the feet of the statue. "It won't re-enter his body when it's this weak. Not much of a body to go back to, either. I do damn good work."

He sighed, now nothing more than a pale outline. He had seconds left, at most. He closed his eyes as the last of his being simply dissolved into the air, like a translucent fog. "Tell Usako... we're both sorry…"

Everything was silent for a long moment. Zoisite wiped ineffectually at his eyes, trying to wipe away tears, not because he was embarrassed of them, but because they confirmed the harsh reality he was still desperately trying to deny. Nephrite stared at the place where this future Mamoru, whoever he was, had last been, trying to make sense of what he'd seen. Jadeite stared at the crystal, trying to will it back to life with his eyes alone, to no avail.

It was Kunzite who broke the silence with a yell so loud, it shook the entire room, sending even more debris crumbling all around them.

"HOW DARE YOU DIE ON ME, PRINCE!" he bellowed, dropping his Prince's head into his lap. He pounded on Mamoru's chest, a one-handed CPR that would never work, simply an act of denial and despair. "You're a liar, Mamoru! A filthy, deceitful liar! I hope you're proud of that!"

"Kunzite, come on, don't." Jadeite looked at him longways.

"Why not, Jadeite? He is, isn't he? He told me he wouldn't go out on his own! But then he decided to back out - some misguided notion of saving us from the battle, I bet! He broke his promise to me, and now he's dead, and I'm angry as hell!" Kunzite slammed his fist on Mamoru's chest again, making his lifeless body shudder like a beaten rag doll. "We're supposed to be protecting you, stupid, not the other way around! Why couldn't you just let us do our job?"

A hand grabbed him by the wrist before he could strike another blow. "Enough, Kunzite, okay?" Nephrite said softly. "He's gone, buddy. He's gone."

The white-haired man firmly shook his head. "We could get him to the hospital, or--"

"I don't think so, Kunzite."

His arm went suddenly slack in Nephrite's grip, as though the very life went out of him. He stared down at the black-haired man in his lap, and his faded green eyes looked, to Nephrite, as hollow as Mamoru's.

Jadeite gazed down at the jewel in his hands, like a droplet of pure sunlight crystalized in his palm. His hands were so shakey and sweaty that he was terrified he might drop it, and so he was focusing very hard on it, as though keeping the Prince's crystal safe was the most vital task in the world. The light inside it was fading, flickering like a lightbulb on its last leg. Even the warmth was leaving it. "Why can't... why can't we put it back inside him? He's taken it out before, and it always went back in."

"It doesn't have the power," Zoisite choked out. He was not even flirting with denial. "It couldn't sustain him, even if it did go back in."

"But... it still has some left. It's still lit." As he spoke, the crystal flickered again, dimmer than it was mere seconds ago. "No! Don't go out on me, now! You have to stay lit for him!"

"Leave it alone, Jadeite!" Zoisite could think of nothing more irreverent at a time like this than all this shouting.

"I am not giving up, Zoisite! Nothing could make me fucking give up on him!" He held the crystal up to his face, as though by seeing it clearly, by staring at it hard enough, he could will it to stay lit. "Come on. Come on, you chunk of glass, keep glowing for me, huh?" The light fluttered, like a weak butterfly in his hands. "C'mon, you sexy little golden thing, stay lit!" Jadeite urged it, for a moment sounding disturbingly like Jed when he was attempting to start Bertha in the morning. The light had already become little more than a thin halo around him. Jadeite gritted his teeth. "Light. Light, dammit! LIGHT!"

Against all expectation, the light, for a moment, swelled.

Jadeite took a shaky breath and held it, hardly believing his eyes. As though carrying a dying ember that could have been snuffed out by a sharp breeze, he clasped the Golden Crystal close to himself, and slowly descended onto the floor next to Zoisite. The other three watched with reverence, as he held the crystalline flower out over the body of their Prince.

"I think," he said in a hushed voice, "that if what this little crystal needs is power, then it can take all the power I can give it. I don't know about anyone else here, but I would give every ounce of strength I have to make him okay."

He glanced around at each of them in turn, the fading flicker of gold shining on their faces.

Kunzite met his eyes. "If it means my life, then it's a life well spent."

Jadeite slowly let the crystal out of his fingers - it shuddered in the air, but stayed steady, hovering just above Mamoru's chest, probably out of sheer defiance.

"Focus on it." Kunzite put his hand on his Prince's collarbone, this time without any unnecessary pounding, just to keep them both grounded. He felt it was probably needless to give them instructions, but it was more to reassure himself than anything else. "You have to want nothing more than for this thing to light. That word, nothing else."

"Guys? If…If this is it…" Zoisite looked around the lopsided semi-circle, unsure of what to say. He looked near to tears again, but this time, not out of grief. "I..."

"We know." Nephrite smiled, patting the blonde's knee. "C'mon, he's not going to wait all day."

The four closed their eyes almost simultaneously, thinking only of the Crystal, the brilliant light they knew so well, of their Prince asleep in Malachi's bed, of him shouting down his phone, defending their honor, living, breathing, fighting…

Four brows knitted, four jaws clenched in frustration and deep concentration. But even as the power flowed, as their entire bodies stiffened with the exertion, and try though they might, they were only making minor progress; they still had little more than an anemic lightbulb on their hands. They had to try harder.

"Fight for him," Kunzite ground out, a low growl that had to fight to get out. "Fight for him! Get angry!"

"You can't have him, Hades," Jadeite snarled. "You hear me? Give him back!"

"I still have to update your wardrobe, you understand?" Zoisite shook his head sharply. "You're probably walking around the Elysian Fields in purple shorts! Get up here so I can beat your head in with a Prada bag!"

Nephrite's head injury had decided to take this time to fight him, so he focused less on speaking and more on simply bringing his power to bear, so much so that he physically began to tremble. No Prince of his was going to be dead, no sir. No way.

Kunzite felt the air around them begin to warm, buzzing like a swarm of bees from the excess of power. "That's it…"

After what seemed like a thousand years of pushing, fighting, and occasionally ridiculous outbursts, the Crystal looked almost like its former glory again. But hard though they tried, they could all feel a wall, some sort of barrier - the Danger, Turn Back sign, the point after which they'd be sending their Prince not just their power as guardians, but their own life and blood, as well. It was a line that nature, and whoever was responsible for this whole guardian thing in the first place, had never meant them to cross.

But there was no turning back.

With one great push, they broke the barrier, unleashing every nerve, every vein, every last ounce of themselves on the Crystal, hoping beyond hope, hoping beyond themselves that it would be enough. For a moment, it seemed like it wasn't, everyone began to sink to the floor, their lives seeping away--

Time froze.

When it resumed, a flash of light, the likes of which had never been seen before, exploded out of the little Crystal, blazing like a flare from the sun itself, that the Shitennou could see even with their eyes closed. It shot into the air almost ten feet, far above their reach. And underneath Kunzite's hand, the Prince began to stir.

The crystal had become a star blazing above them, and suddenly a blinding beam shot straight down, down to the Prince that lay below, and struck directly into the center of his forehead. As though it had branded him, an answering glow flared out from where it had struck, a strange symbol in the shape of two crossing bars inside a circle, burning in his forehead. The symbol caused a strange sort of resonance inside Kunzite, and its meaning rose to his lips before he was even aware of it. "Earth."

And then the world exploded.

Or at least it seemed to, as all four Shitennou were thrown back, engulfed in such absolute, blinding light that they could sense nothing else. They could -taste- it, as though light, in its purest form, were something that could be tasted. Kunzite had landed sprawled on his back, which should have been an agonizing experience, but the pain in his shoulder seemed to have evaporated in the light's touch.

The light dimmed--or rather, it gathered toward the center of the room, swirling like a tornado of golden mist around the crystal above and the Prince below. Through the glittering storm, Kunzite could see, barely, a figure of dazzling white sit up from the ground. And then the figure was on his knees, and what armour still covered his back shattered, and suddenly the figure grew beyond any human shape that Kunzite was aware of. An impossibly huge structure emerged from the silhouette's back, and then split into two, and each half unfolded into what he realized was an unbelievable wingspan. They were--yes--wings, and they curled around into a great cloak surrounding the figure as the crystal began to descend toward its host. The figure raised a hand to meet it as it descended, and for one split second the two beings of light--the crystal and the person--were impossible to look at, they were so bright. And then the two became one, and the brilliance became more muted, and at last Kunzite was able to pick out details.

There was the black-haired Prince Endymion, cloaked in nothing other than feathers of the purest white, which seemed to glow almost as brightly as the symbol on his forehead. One enormous wing folded behind him as he turned, and his eyes, smoldering their molten gold, met Kunzite's. He stood, a being so powerful and majestic that one could hardly believe this was the same man who had been found curled in a ball on Malachi's bed, and as he walked nearer, Kunzite almost wondered whether he was.

The winged creature looked Kunzite over, and with all the seriousness of the reborn, asked, "who said you could take off your sling?"

Kunzite did not know whether to laugh or cry, but Mamoru helped him reach a decision when he found himself with his Prince straddling his legs, arms around his neck, and nothing seemed more appropriate than to do both. He held him back, so tightly that he did not even notice that he had use of both arms, or that Endymion's uniform was missing completely, or that they were surrounded on both sides by a cocoon of feathers.

Endymion shed tears, too, but they were tears of gold.

"Prince..." Kunzite whispered, wondering if this was a dream. If he had actually died in trying to bring Mamoru back, and all of this was nothing more than the fantasy of a dead man.

"I'm here, Kunzite. I'm here."

"You were dead."

"I know. I'm sorry." It seemed such a strange thing to say that Kunzite had to laugh into his Prince's ebony hair, though it was mostly a laugh of relief. "I felt you. You pulled me back. You wouldn't let me go." His fingers tightened in Kunzite's white hair. "Thank you for fighting for me."

"Mommy, please turn the lights off, I want five more minutes sleep," Jadeite groaned, rolling onto his side. "It's too bright for 6 AM!"

"If I'd known you were going to go fucking supernova," Nephrite said, rubbing the spot where his head had ached only moments before, "I would have brought my sunglasses to this battle."

Zoisite, on the other hand, was simply not in the mood for absurdity anymore, and did his best impression of a flying squirrel by launching himself into the air and holding on to Mamoru's waist like he was coming apart at his liver. "Prince, I swear to God, if you ever do that again, I'm going to … do something remarkably unpleasant to you, do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir, Zoisite, sir."

Before any other predictable whinings or lovely platitudes could be shared, the moment was interrupted by, of all things, clapping. A hearty round of applause, no doubt about it, and everyone turned in confusion to search for the source of the noise. It came not from anyone on the ground, but a figure perched on top of the mutilated remains of the much-maligned Queen Beryl statue.

Much to everyone's disgust, it was King Endymion himself. This time, Mamoru noted, he looked just like he had when they had parted ways more than a year and a half ago.

"Bravo!" The King cheered loudly, shaking his head with a shit-eating grin. "I didn't know if you could do it, I got a little concerned at the end there, though limbo isn't too terribly bad, I probably could get used to it if I tried hard enough, but you passed with flying colors!"

Nephrite, bless him and his big mouth, shook out of his reverie first. "What the fuck are you talking about!"

"I could tell you, but it's awfully fun to be cryptic! It drives my wife nuts. This could possibly explain why I haven't gotten laid since 2332." The King leapt off the statue and landed without a sound on the rubble-covered ground. He brushed Beryl crumbs from his lapel. "Good thing we only need one heir. I am talking about your whole ordeal, boys. You won, you beat the odds, you did a damn fine job!"

Zoisite blinked so hard, Mamoru was almost sure he could hear it. The blonde pointed a shaky hand at the king. "Wait, so you're not--"

"Heartless, warped and cruel? Only on poker night, my boys, I kick ass at poker." King Endymion approached them cheerily, unaware or just plain unworried about five looks of promised violence on varying levels. "What I am is a good actor, a brilliant story teller, a genius scientist, and 115 off my rocker."

"You might find this hard to believe," Kunzite said, managing to maintain a certain level of calm, "but I don't follow." He was holding a death grip on his Prince, very aware of the fact that evil or no, his future self could do with some medication.

"I have been playing you like five oblivious violins, is the long and short of it." The king was awfully proud of this fact, it was clear. "I created nine working, albeit miserably flawed, clones of our own beloved Senshi, and sent them hundreds of years into the past to kick you around like soccer balls, watching from my precious government-funded home entertainment system. My heartbreaking tale was a Pulitzer-worthy piece of fiction, but it was nothing more than that. Everything that has happened to you over the last few days has been cleverly orchestrated by yours truly, not with the intention of actually wiping you off the face of the map, but rather..." He paused to consider his wording. "Training. Training for your final exam, which, as I said, you passed beautifully."

"Let me see if I understand." Against Kunzite's better judgement, Mamoru wormed out of his guardian's grip, and advanced on his future self. "We have been beaten, maimed, broken, insulted, emotionally abused, and otherwise been brutalized as some sort of crazy test?"

"Smart lad! Clearly, I get it from you."

Mamoru counted to five, took a deep breath, squared his shoulder, a pillar of maturity and poise - and punched his future self expertly in the nose.

The shock and relief of the past five minutes had not failed to carry over into the moment, and so it was very little surprise to anyone that Nephrite and Zoisite very nearly killed themselves with laughter at that point, though Zoisite at least had the dignity to cover his mouth. "He totally learned that from me," Jadeite announced with a grin, while Kunzite appeared to be mildly--though not altogether--disapproving of the gesture.

A quick glow of gold was all the King needed to recover, evidently no less proficient at quick healing than when he was younger. He was also, apparently, far too jovial at the moment to let a mere broken nose put a damper on his mood. "Okay, two days ago you were getting knocked around by an obnoxious juvenile clone, and now I've got you punching me in the face. Do I kick ass or what?"

"If it's ass kicking you want, I could arrange that for you." Mamoru's feathers were getting ruffled--quite literally.

"Oh, let's not get too excited, Mamoru. A nice 'thank you' would suffice."

"Thank you? After all the shit you just put us through, you want me to thank you?"

"Have you not listened to a word I said? You children, you can't listen to anything. How did I ever learn any patience?"

"Probably from having to put up with your own annoying self."

"Someday, you'll learn to have as much fun as me. You'll also learn how to sew your own button holes."

"Okay, time out for one second, huh?" Jadeite had to move quite a distance around Mamoru before he could actually view the King directly, being that Mamoru's wings were like a wall of feathers in his path. "Maybe I've been knocked around by a few too many clones, run into a few too many freaky doubles, and had way too many conflicting stories thrown around. But right now, I am pretty damn sure that you have told us precisely shit, and I don't even really know who the fuck you are."

"Silence, my whiny little bitch, else I tell everyone the name of the stuffed hippo you keep hidden under your bed." The King smiled genially as the blonde visibly paled. There really was no messing with a time traveller. "But I suppose we are running short on time for me to properly annoy you with vagueness, seeing as how you lot took your sweet time getting everything done. I am a busy man, you know. And I had hoped even the dullard over there would have caught on by now that I am Endymion--I dropped the Chiba at some point because everyone knows one-word names are so much cooler for celebrities--king of all the Earth and damn fine in purple. You got the basics now, Jadeite, or should I go slower?"

Jadeite muttered something about how that was just fine, thanks, and went back to trying to crawl beneath the nearest rock, figuratively speaking.

"Right, then. Here's the deal, Mamoru, before you go swinging those fists again. The future you know has changed, but not in the ways I told you it did. What we were doing here was making those changes happen, as you can't always trust destiny and the natural flow of things to make things play out the way you want them to. Look at it this way. If you had gone off to Harvard--"

"You're the reason Harvard filled my position?" Mamoru had very swiftly moved from moderately angry to wholly irate. He would be doing more than punching in a moment.

"Are you going to interrupt me every time I mention something inconsequential? Yes, I did have a hand in it, though it was really just a matter of some administrative tweaking. No real loss to anyone except them. When they find out that they turned away the future king of their planet and let Stanford have him instead..."

"Inconsequential? I worked my ass off to get accepted to that school, you--"

"As usual, Mamoru, you miss the point entirely. What would you have gone to Harvard for? A degree? You can get one just as good anywhere, and without all the cold, lonely nights you would have spent studying. I used to value the years I struggled there too, until things were put into perspective for me. There are some things that are worth giving it up over. Did you know, Mamoru, that even if you have been alive on this planet for 935 years, you can go your entire life without ever meeting someone who shares that planet with you? It's taken for granted that all the people we are meant to run across in our lives will eventually stumble into us, but this is not always the case. Or at least, it may take a phenomenally long time to happen." Endymion sobred quite a bit as he spoke, his eyes becoming distant with memory. "I had never bothered looking for them, because I never imagined that it was possible, that they had been out there all along and never knew to alert me of their presence. I believed, when I was younger, that if ever it were possible to revive my Shitennou, it would be when Crystal Tokyo appeared. As though all those giant crystals somehow had the power to make everything right again. I know now that the reason it never worked out was because I was going about it the wrong way. They did not need to be revived at all. What they needed was to be reunited with their other halves."

Mamoru went silent, finally understanding. His future self took a slow breath and continued. "Things change in nine hundred years. They change a lot. By the time we finally found each other... I don't want to use the phrase 'too late' but it was damn close to it. I don't need to tell you what courses your lives would have taken. No one should know that. Suffice to say... we were all willing to take an enormous risk in changing things."

Zoisite looked contemplative. "So we--our future selves, that is--had a hand in all this?"

"You don't think I could do all this myself, do you? I'm good, but I'm not that good. I do believe you ran into one of them earlier. He was so excited about playing the villain, I just couldn't turn him down."

"I just bet he was," Nephrite muttered to Kunzite, who appeared too sheepish to respond.

"I'm sure they're all sitting at home, telling each other what a dashing yet horrible actor I am." The purple-haired king looked far too pleased with himself over this fact.

"That still doesn't explain why you had to go to all the trouble of killing me, Endymion. I mean, that didn't do anything but probably shave five years off their lives!" Mamoru was beginning to work himself back into a rage, but a steadying hand on his shoulder courtesy Kunzite calmed him. A little.

"If my only goal had been to reunite you...me...us with the Shitennou, I could have stopped long before you got here. I simply would have said, 'hey, me from nine hundred years ago, here's some rocks, here's some guys, smush them together and let me know how it goes!' Have you not considered," the king said, spinning his cane around in his hand, and then rapping the end lightly on Mamoru's forehead. "The clones, the fighting, and even dying - it was the means to an end.

"You see, Mamoru, it occured to me one day - September 4, 2210, in case you were wondering - that the Golden Crystal was about as good to me as carrying around a little battery operated lightbulb. When the time came to fight, and indeed, that time came more often than I would have liked, I was about as useful as I was in my youth, which basically meant I was getting hurt. A lot. I mean, a lot a lot, it was ridiculous. I spent hours training with the Senshi, but I never made any progress. I did, however, break my arm twelve times, my right leg six, my left leg seven, and even gave myself a hernia. Word of advice - don't ever try a triple somersault after the age of 607, it just won't end well for you."

Jadeite took the opportunity to get back into the conversation. "But if you just wanted Mamoru to strengthen the crystal, why not have him do it in ways that didn't, you know, put his life in danger at every moment of every day? I mean, we must have trained him some way in the Golden Kingdom..."

"Yes, the type of training we employed back then was 'fighting Beryl.'" Kunzite rubbed his forehead. "I wanted to do it the proper way, but any time I tried, there was an army of youma at our door. It was training by fire for almost five years."

"And it worked. Back in the day, the Golden Crystal was a fucking menace, if I do say so myself. But it was dormant for so long, we forgot how to use it properly. You never thought to ask the Shitennou what to do about it after you fought the Dead Moon Circus, and I don't know if they would have been able to help if you had. I knew the only way the Golden Crystal would be a real compliment to the Ginzuishou was through violent, life or death fighting. Dummies don't cut it. You have to go into it fearing that you're going to die." The king smiled, looking only a little bit mentally unsteady. "I made very sure that death was always a distinct possibility."

"And a damn fine job you did of that. But why the Senshi?" Zoisite asked. "Couldn't it have been anyone? Why add insult to injury?"

"Because insults are remarkably fun when you aren't on the receiving end of them." The king's smile broadened. "And what ever is the point of trying to kill your past self if you can't have a little fun at it? On the technical side of things, the clones simply made for rather perfect vessels to carry out my purposes. Unlike youma, they were physically stable enough to withstand a lot of damage, and were able to store much higher levels of energy for use in those nice sparkly attacks they employed. They also had the ability to give my past self the wiggies, which I found deliciously appealing."

"So, what, you just cloned these apparently evil senshi for us to use as target practice?" Jadeite asked, the expression on his face showing his distaste for the idea.

"Goodness, you make it sound so dismal. But I am aware of your concern, and I can assure you that the clones were not actual living beings with thoughts or feelings of their own. Think of them as being no different than characters from a video game. Their personalities were simply programmed into them. Their interactions with you were a combination of automated responses and commands given by yours truly. I suppose you never cared to notice how they would sometimes switch tactics abruptly, or even hold back at just the right moment. I have to say, it's not at all easy trying to attack someone without actually killing them. Especially when that someone consistently hurls himself in death's path." The King looked rather pointedly at Mamoru, who looked quite sheepish at the mention of his self-destructive ways.

"Damn, Prince, even your future self thinks you're out to get yourself. Maybe we need to start keeping you on a leash." Nephrite folded his arms, and the black-haired man was mildly disturbed to realize that he was only half joking.

"You honestly have no idea how difficult you are to work with, Mamoru," the King continued. "For one thing, do you have any idea how hard it is to force you to meet people? First off, you don't talk to anyone, and you don't leave your dorm for anything except classes and occasional--very occasional--meals. So I had to make you crash into one. But then, should you realize this person looks remarkably like a former enemy, you would immediately assume either a threat or your imagination, and actually go out of your way to avoid him from then on. So I had to force you into a situation where you would be dependent on him, hence that rather uncomfortable fainting spell. Fortunately, Malachi is a much more obliging person. All I have to do is toss you at him and say 'catch!'" The only one who did not laugh at that analogy was Mamoru, who rather did not like the idea of being tossed around by his future self and his guardian.

"I was even forced to personally interfere when our little drama queen over here was too busy emoting to notice that a little clone's giant poking stick was about to spear him like an hors d'oeuvre on a toothpick. That little episode, I can tell you, damn near gave me a heart attack. I'm too old to deal with you kids." The King shook his head tragically, leaning both hands on his cane, though he looked only marginally older than the as-yet uncrowned version of himself.

Mamoru blinked at him. Wouldn't he have realized it if the king had... oh. "The voice in my head," he stated with sudden revelation.

"What, you're hearing voices now, too? We need to keep a closer eye on this boy." Jadeite shook his head with mock gravity while Mamoru flushed beneath his golden glow.

"No, just the one time. There was a voice that kept telling me--"

"Telling you to get off your angst-ridden ass and fight already." The King looked like he enjoyed insulting his younger self just a little too much. "I had thought that if the clones smacked you around for a while that they would finally knock some sense into you, but apparently even I underestimated your stubborn need to treat yourself like shit. Which inevitably lead to yet another unforseen crisis, which I like to call 'getting my guardian killed.' I wasn't especially pleased about that. I do hope you know that I had that in mind while I was kicking your ass." The King smiled wickedly, and Mamoru decided that he was no less frightening now than when he was pretending to be the bad guy.

"Okay, yeah, I get the point. But none of that would have even happened if you had not made Usako blow up at me. Just what did I stand to gain from that whole Lunette fiasco?"

"Other than the sheer joy of messing with your head? I simply needed to make sure that no one would interfere with all our work on this side of the ocean. I couldn't have dearest Usako getting any silly ideas about running over here to rescue you--you'll notice I chose the rather opportune time of her surgery. I also had to make sure that you would not turn to the sailor senshi and ask them what they thought of these rather dashing Shitennou look-alikes. You had to be certain of your own feelings for them before you faced all that strong opposition. Ten minutes on the phone with them, and they would have had you promising to stay away from the Shitennou at all costs--don't look at me like that, you know you're the sailor team's bitch."

"I think you went just a tad overboard," Mamoru stated flatly, very much trying to ignore the distinct snickers coming from the Peanut Gallery that was Jadeite and Nephrite. "Making Usako so upset, and then death threats from most of her senshi..."

"Actually that was all you." The King beamed at him. "You know, if there's one thing I can trust you to do, it's snowball any tiny problem with Usako into something monsterous. All I had to do was start you on the right track."

Mamoru's face dropped into his hand, as he decided at that moment that he would like nothing more than to disappear. This was, unfortunately, not to be, as he was about as visible as a big, golden spotlight in the middle of a dark room. A spotlight with giant shimmering white wings that could probably have knocked one of his Shitennou flat on his back if he dared attempt to flap them around. Kunzite's hand still rested on his back, fingers massaging the place where the base of one wing met bare skin. It was an odd sensation, the warm touch against layers of feathers that sprung out of raw new skin. It made him shiver.

"Any other questions, gents? I have to get back before Usako notices I'm not, in fact, taking a four hour bubble bath."

"Whose idea was it to rip out his Sailor crystal?" Everyone gave Jadeite a stange look, and he held up his hands in defense. "I just want to know! I know this guy is off his nut, but it takes a special kind of nut to go rooting around in someone's chest cavity, right? Especially their own!"

"You're right about that, kiddo. See, I could bore you with all the details of how my super secret clandestine plan got busted and I had to do damage control, but I don't think any of us care, least of all me. The shorthand version is: Uranus busted my ass and swore she wouldn't tell on one condition. That was the condition."

Mamoru paled to a white just this side of paper. "I think I'm going to keep a better eye on Haruka from now on."

"You just might want to, yes." King Endymion shuddered. "It was better than the other conditions she gave me..."

Without a pause, the king beat the floor with his cane in some sort of gesture of finality. "On that pleasant note, I have a utopia to run and servants to give heart attacks to. Gentlemen, it was a distinct pleasure, though I can understand if you don't feel the same way. Take care of yourselves, and each other, yada yada fishsticks."

He regarded his former self with a strangely solemn smile - for him, anyway. On anyone else, it still would have looked more than a little imbalanced. "I ought to give you some stupid, marshmellow words of wisdom, Mamoru, but I'll settle for this. I'm proud of you. You make us both look good. And whatever you do in life, don't forget your anniversary. You do not want to go through the Rose Massacre of 2441."

"Duly noted," Mamoru said, resisting the urge to outright laugh. He made a mental note to never do hallucinogens, because his future self was clearly sent to him, above all things, as a PSA against drug abuse. "I...don't really want to thank you, but if it wasn't for you, I never would have--"

"I know. We're both very lucky people." With a ridiculously showy flip of his cape, King Endymion disappeared in - and Mamoru had to blink to make sure he'd seen it right - a flash of purple glitter and disco lights. Like that, the orchestrator of his greatest nightmare was gone, leaving only his naked butt and four confused Shitennou in the remains of a miniature shrine to everyone's least favorite queen of the underworld. It seemed like a pretty pisspoor way to end the whole ordeal, but he knew that Endymion wanted to get the heck out of the past before he ended up causing serious damage. As it was, he was secretly afraid that this whole thing would cause Chibi-usa to have blue hair and an insatiable urge to eat book paste.

"If I ever become like that," he said to no one in particular, warily watching the empty space where his future self had been standing moments before, "please hit me. Hard."

"I'm not so sure that I need your permission for that." Mamoru turned, a retort at ready, but if he was expecting to see mirth on his guardians' faces, he was sorely mistaken. The four had gathered behind him, a semi-circle that closed him into a corner with pieces of Beryl statue at his back. With his enormous wings now out of the way, they moved in close, but the black-haired prince did not think that another round of relieved hugs was on their minds. The less-than-pleased expressions on their faces told Mamoru that he was not in for what he would call a fun time.

He squared his shoulders, the feathers at his back bristling slightly. He had just survived having his sailor crystal physically ripped from his chest; anything beyond that should have been a walk in the park.

"So what gave you the great idea to come charging down here on your own?" Kunzite's words were sharp, matching his looming, battle-ready stance, and his hardened emerald eyes. His fist tightened as if to clasp a weapon that was not there, but even while his eyes blazed, his movements remained perfectly contained, a picture of ice cold fury. Mamoru thought that he could understand, as he felt himself squirm under that gaze, how Kunzite could have commanded armies of men twice his age, and bring down monsters big enough to destroy whole villages. All other eyes were fixed on the black-haired man--all, that is, except Nephrite's, which were watching Kunzite as though expecting him to launch himself at Mamoru's jugular.

"I couldn't have you walking into a battle in your condition."

Zoisite spoke up. "Prince, that is not your decision to make. We--"

"Well I made it this time. None of you were in any position to fight, especially you, Kunzite. You could have had your asses handed to you, and that wasn't a chance I was willing to take."

"For crying out loud, Prince, don't you have any faith in us at all?" Jadeite looked more than a little hurt by this. He also looked like he wanted to punch Mamoru in the jaw.

"I have plenty of faith in you. I have enough faith to know that the four of you would be alright if anything happened to me. What I don't have much faith in is myself. After what happened before, I... there's no way I could have known whether I could resist Lunette or not. I couldn't let the same thing happen again. I could have killed you last time."

"You don't think that's a risk we were aware of, Prince? Did nothing I told you earlier sink in?" Nephrite glanced away from Kunzite long enough to give him a sharp glare, and Mamoru wondered whether his intention was really to protect him from Kunzite or to hold him down while Kunzite hit.

"Yeah, Nephrite, it did. That's why... I couldn't let this become something I'd regret. You guys are too important to me for that. I want you here as my guardians, not as corpses."

"You shut me out," Kunzite growled lowly, in a way that made Jadeite edge away from him. "And you LIED!" His voice echoed sharply in the hollow cavern, shattering what had been an empty silence beyond the small golden glow immediately within their party.

Mamoru took a breath, resisting the urge to back away from his guardian with the cold green eyes, if only because his wings would collide with pieces of the Beryl statue if he did. "I'm sorry," he said evenly, and he meant it.

Through the battle, and the king's appearance, and his near-death experience, he had failed to notice just how cold it was here, deep beneath the school. But now, as the last of the adrenaline faded he could feel the chill air on his naked skin and the icy stone floor shooting numbing spikes of cold up his bare feet. He was beginning to notice, with increasing discomfort, that he was not exactly dressed for such a discussion, but it seemed silly to suddenly become bashful about it now. There had been slightly more important things on his mind when his uniform went missing, and he was not sure that shouting "oh shit, I'm naked!" twenty minutes after the fact would do anything for his credibility. Mamoru knew this talk was important to them, but he really wished it could wait until he'd managed to retrieve a new set of clothes and about four blankets. And maybe some coffee. Coffee was a brilliant idea.

"We almost lost you because of your stupidity."

"Which, the stupidity of my future self? I'll agree with you on that one." Mamoru secretly wondered whether that comment would do anything to ease the tension in here, or if it would only frustrate the white-haired man further.

Kunzite gave him a stern look, jaw set. Mamoru could not help but notice that Jadeite and Zoisite had all but abandoned glaring at him to cast nervous glances at their leader, instead. He swallowed hard.

The white-haired man took a breath, as everyone else in the room held theirs. "Well really, how can anyone take him seriously with hair like that?"

For a moment, Mamoru seriously considered fainting. "No shit, Prince. What kind of mutant hair have you got, that you'll go purple in your old age?" Jadeite had a million-watt grin of relief and just a tad of deviousness on his face.

"Obviously he hasn't had a capable hair consultant on his team." Zoisite gave a longsuffering sigh. "I guess I'll just have to inform him on the finer details of hair dye."

Nephrite smirked. "It's not like Kunzite has room to talk. His future self looks like he should be wearing a tutu."

"I thought he looked very dignified," the white-haired man answered stiffly.

"Oh, vastly dignified. If he were an Easter egg." The brunette gracefully accepted a punch on the arm, snickering.

Mamoru crossed his arms over his chest, huddling into his wings. "Now that that's cleared up, think we can get out of here? If it's all the same to you, I'd really rather not die of hypothermia so soon after surviving so many ass kickings."

"Yeah, hey, what'd you do with my clothes?"

The black-haired man cast a glance down at himself, as though half-expecting the "seme" shirt to reappear. "Um. I, uh, lost them? Mysterious fourth dimension portal? I don't know. Sorry, Nephrite."

The brown-eyed man sighed. "Ah well, not like I was actually going to wear it after a certain someone's joke got outed."

Zoisite grinned. "Don't worry, Nephrite. I'll find you a better one."

"That's what I'm afraid of, actually. See if I ever wear anything from you again."

Jadeite looked him up and down. "Excuse me for saying this, Prince, but with the wings and the wardrobe choice, or lack thereof, you look like you belong in one of Zoisite's gay porn mags. Ever consider a career change?"

While Mamoru turned a very dashing shade of red and attempted to hide certain parts of himself behind his wings (which did nothing to help his backside), Zoisite remarked, "those are not porn. Those are fashion and art magazines."

"They're porn," Jadeite silently worded to Mamoru, as though assuring him that his career options were intact.

"You know, Prince," Kunzite began, and Mamoru found that he did not like the look in his eyes, "maybe you'd finally learn your lesson if we left you like that."

"We couldn't leave him down here on his own, of course," Nephrite drawled, an all-too-devious twinkle in his eye.

"No, that would be far too dangerous. But you know, I'm so beat from running all the way over here, I think I only just have the energy to teleport him back to the psychology building. You don't mind walking, do you Prince?"

"The rain's stopped already," Jadeite joined in. "It's a perfect night for a stroll."

Zoisite nodded. "Of course, we'd have to keep to the well-lit areas. For safety, you understand."

Mamoru had turned a shade of white to rival the feathers that surrounded him. "...You wouldn't."

Kunzite smirked. "Consider it a warning. You'll get worse than that if you ever do something so ridiculous again. Now get rid of those wings; I don't want to think about how much you'd break if you opened those in my room."

The prince glanced curiously down at the masses of white feathers. "I don't know if I can keep up this glowing thing if I do that. It'll be pitch dark in here."

"Anybody got a light?" Nephrite asked, of the fratboy expectation that there was always someone in the room with a lighter.

"How's this?" On cue, a ball of fire erupted over Zoisite's head, and took the form of a fire bird. Its wings roared and crackled as it drifted up to the biggest piece of the Beryl statue and perched on the edge, lowering its long neck to peck disdainfully at the marble.

"Show off," Jadeite muttered.

Mamoru was not entirely certain how these wing things worked, but he imagined them to be something like a very large weapon to be called upon at will. He was not, however, used to having weapons attached to his body like this. He breathed deeply, folding the massive wings behind him as though as a signal that he was not in need of them now. The wings shimmered, each feather turning to dozens of glistening stars, before they began to fade and finally vanished completely.

His powers now safely tucked away, the full force of the cold struck him, and he began to shiver. He rubbed his arms, missing the soft down that had warmed his back.

In the flickering light of the fire bird above them, Kunzite removed his cape, and wrapped it around his prince's shoulders. "You are on your way to giving me a heart attack at a very early age," he muttered, pulling Mamoru close to rub his back.

Mamoru leaned into him, feeling his shivers subside. "Don't worry, I'll be there to fix you up again."

There was a quiet calm in the room now, where everyone stood looking at each other, waiting for someone to come up with their next move. It was over. Most of the ends had been knotted up. What was there to do? What could you say, when the worst week of your life had reached its climax, and all you had left to do was pick up the pieces and shuffle back home?

"I need a beer," Jadeite stated decisively. "I need eight beers."

Nephrite looked wistful at the mention of alcohol. "I need eight beers more than you. I'm camping out in a corner with my own keg."

"I claim the bathtub." Zoisite picked at a greasy lock of hair with disgust. "I'm scrubbing myself down until every last bit of this day comes off."

Mamoru laughed, massaging his temples in relief. "I just need a nap. A long nap. To heck with it, I'm just going to sleep until next fall. We'll all be safer that way."

"Are you kidding?" Jadeite elbowed him in the ribs. "I bet your future self would come back and smother you with a pillow. Face it, Prince. You're just doomed to be injured in whatever you do. And thankfully, we'll be there to make sure you don't get too heavily maimed."

The young prince attempted to kick him in the shin, but his guardian had gotten wise and managed to dodge, laughing all the while.

"You trying to start something?" Jadeite gave him a shove, which knocked the prince into Kunzite, sending them both stumbling, until they both ended up in a messy heap. The white haired man gave him a Look, complete with a raised eyebrow. There was a moment where no one was quite sure what was going to happen next.

Completely deadpan, Kunzite declared, "I think, Prince, that this means war."

Mamoru nodded gravely. "I do believe you're right, Kunzite."

Jadeite paled as one very big leader and one very naked prince bore down on him. "C'mon, that was only--oh shi--HELP!"

"Think he dug his own grave on that one?" Nephrite casually asked the small blonde next to him, as Jadeite was tackled to the ground amidst cries for mercy.

"I don't think he could have done a better job at it if he'd had a shovel." Zoisite attempted to remain dignified, but Kunzite was roaring and Jadeite was attempting to chew his way out of the melee, and Mamoru had lost Kunzite's cape somewhere, and was now revealing a side of himself that Zoisite had never expected to see. The green-eyed boy could not help it--he broke into fits of laughter and could hear Nephrite do the same, and before long the two were struggling to hold each other up lest they collapse completely into giggles, while Jadeite's shouts of "rape!" echoed through the halls.

No Dark Kingdom base had ever witnessed such a scene.

--------------

Mamoru was just hanging up his phone when Malachi emerged from the steam-filled bathroom, silver hair turned glossier with dampness. "How did it go?"

The black-haired prince shrugged. "Oh, she's been frantically leaving me phone messages for the past two hours. She had a strong feeling that something was wrong, and when she couldn't get ahold of me she panicked. But, here's the weird thing. She had no idea I was dead for five minutes."

Malachi raised an eyebrow. "You didn't tell her, did you?"

"You think I'd want to? The poor girl did just come out of major surgery; I don't think she needs to know that unsettling little detail."

Though he normally chided Mamoru for keeping the unpleasant things in his life to himself, Malachi conceded that he had to agree this time. Usagi had already been through this once before with him. After tonight, Malachi thought he had a good idea of what kind of emotional trauma that had put her through. She did not need the same scenario coming back to her. "So what did you tell her?"

Mamoru slumped on the bed. Neff had dug up for him a well-worn t-shirt (fortunately not sporting any embarrasing phrases) and flannel pants that were frayed at the edges, but were more comfortable than anything Mamoru had previously owned. Compared to being naked in a cave, the outfit was heavenly. "The truth, just not all of it. I got up to the part where the King showed up, and I just couldn't tell her that her future husband has been decidedly trying to kill himself of the past to make some adjustments to the future. It would sure make me look even less trustworthy than the senshi currently think I am, and besides, it's just too..."

"Weird?" Malachi offered.

"Yeah, that. Especially since in the future I am, apparently, a nutcase."

Malachi looked dubious. "You don't think the senshi are going to be concerned that your story only includes clones? They're going to think there's someone else still out there, waiting to go after you."

"Oh, I didn't say I left out the King entirely. I told her it was some crazy guy with purple hair. Wanted world domination, or something like that. Never caught his name."

Malachi almost had to laugh. He wondered if anyone would make the connection. It was quite unlikely. "So then, how did your story manage to get rid of the crazy purple guy, if it didn't involve you dying?"

Mamoru smirked. "Easy. You guys showed up and saved me at the last minute. Then you defeated him, without my help, placing yourself firmly in Usako's good graces and saving my ass in more ways than one. She's just relieved this whole thing is over and that I'm okay. And she's very glad to know that I have you guys around to count on."

"Well at least something good came out of this. Maybe the senshi will decide we're worth keeping around for a while."

"That's not up to them." Mamoru looked squarely at him. "But it would help. I don't really look forward to being at odds with them about it. But they aren't completely unreasonable. Just... a little protective sometimes." Not entirely unlike certain guardians of his own. He sighed. "I'm still confused about Usako not being aware of what was happening, though. Not that I'm not relieved she didn't have to go through that, but, she knew the moment all that stuff with Lunette went on, and that didn't even compare."

Malachi plopped down in his desk chair. "I'm betting the King had a hand in that. He wouldn't have wanted her to know what was happening to you, any more than you do."

"He died too, though. How could he maintain that when he actually wasn't in existance during that time?"

"He could if he had help. He did say that the Shitennou were in on the whole thing. He also had a forcefield almost as big as the campus blocking out teleportation, and he somehow messed with time behind Pluto's back. All sorts of sophisticated stuff that he probably couldn't have kept up on his own while he was busy kicking your ass."

Mamoru looked thoughtful. "I hadn't even thought of that. I don't even know how that would work, but I guess they've had a few centuries to refine their skills."

"Yeah, well, you're plenty skilled at blocking out mental links already, so I guess it's not too much of a leap."

The black-haired man visibly winced. "I'm sorry, Malachi. I really am. You were already hurt so bad, and I was so afraid that you would be hurt again. I just, I don't know, I panicked, and I did something to you that I never thought I'd do to anyone." He'd known, for a long time, that he was capable of just walking into somebody's head and manipulating a few variables. That was a power that not even Usako was aware of, because it was something that he pointedly chose to ignore. He had always thought that it was something that simply would never happen. Malachi's connection with him had made it far too easy, and Mamoru had taken advantage of something that he should not have touched.

Malachi wasn't looking at him. He was straightening his desk, piling up papers and putting away CDs like it was a vital task.

"I thought I could make it better," Mamoru mumbled, trying to fill the gap. Somewhere in the house, the music had escalated and there was a loud thump as someone collided with a wall. Though the boys had seemed tame before, apparently they just needed a few hours to warm up before the party was up to its usual standards.

"You made it worse," the white-haired man answered softly, stuffing a pile of notes into his textbook. "You trapped me in my own mind, and that's not really a place I like to be right now."

Mamoru sighed. "It was the stupidest thing I could have done, Malachi, and I really am sorry. I... wasn't thinking. It was like I had to prove I had to do it on my own no matter what. I'd like to blame the King for that, but I've already blamed him for everything else. Maybe he started it, but…" He threw his cellphone at Malachi's bed for lack of any better course of action, and watched the small metal wad flop around in the sheets. "Usako's a bad influence. All she ever wants is for her friends to be safe, even if it's the worst course of action she could possibly take."

"Let's just hope it doesn't work both ways. The last thing the Senshi need is for her to adopt suicidal tendencies."

"Shut up."

"Make me."

"Well, we never did get to finish that delightful wrestling match earlier. I wouldn't want you thinking you'd gotten the upper hand or anything." Mamoru did not wait for the invitation. He approached Malachi with devious intent, but the white haired man was cornered against his desk, and before he could consider making a run for the bathroom again, Mamoru had grabbed his towel. He evaded Malachi's grasp, jumped to the bed and rolled to the other side.

They were both at a loss for words for a moment, and then Mamoru uttered what was either the most or least masculine thing he'd ever said in his life. "Nice package."

Malachi blanched. Someone was going to have to give him a lesson on English colloquialisms. "What, you're hitting on me, now? Prince, what will your fiancé say?"

"Right now, she'd probably be saying, 'UWAAAA! Mamochan, give him his towel back!' And probably peeking through her fingers to get a look. Of course, right about now, Minako-chan would be attempting to get her camera..."

"Would you just give me my towel back already?"

"You were going to make me walk naked through the quad. I think you can afford to squirm a little bit."

As karma would have it, it was at that exact moment that Malachi remembered he should have locked the door when he came in. A slight rattle of the doorknob was all the warning he got, before the door went cheerfully swinging open to the tune of "Hey ladies, look what we--HOLY FUCK."

The bathroom door slammed shut, an unclothed Malachi safely behind it, while Neff gaped between it and Mamoru, and Jed hid his face in an armful of beer. "Oh God, my eyes! My poor virgin eyes!"

"Did someone put something in my beer, or did I just see Malachi's white ass go streaking by?"

Mamoru looked multiple levels of smug as he held up the confiscated towel. "Yeah. Payback's a bitch, isn't it?"

The brunette raised an eyebrow, staring at Mamoru like he had just pulled out a severed unicorn head to show off. "Man, are we sure we brought the right guy back with us? Maybe we should go back and check whether the real Prince is still sitting down there, waiting for something to come and maim him." He ducked as Mamoru threw the towel at him, landing squarely on his head. "Hey, watch where you throw that thing. I don't want to think about where it's been."

Jed was carefully depositing the precious alcohol on Malachi's desk. "All I know is, we don't have nearly enough beer to wipe that mental image from my mind. You owe me a six-pack just for subjecting me to that, Prince."

Neff raised his voice. "Hey Malachi, were you planning to put on some clothes yet, or are you going to show off your junk to the guys in the livingroom first?"

"Fuck you, Neff." The white-haired man's voice came muffled through the door. "Fuck you, and get me some pants."

"What's going on?" Zory entered carrying a fruity wine cooler in place of a beer.

"Malachi was just putting on a naked show for us."

"And I missed it?"

"Fuck you too, Zory."

"I think he wants his pants." Mamoru didn't look much like he intended to give them to him.

"I see no pants here," Jed said innocently.

Zory sighed as he moved to the closet. "Do I always have to be the one to clean up after everyone? Two days around you two troublemakers, and the only mature person around here is already just as bad as you are."

Upon emerging from the bathroom, properly attired and with his silver hair slicked back against his head, the king zeroed in on Mamoru like a predator. Mamoru stiffened like a cornered animal, as he really was cornered, between the bed and the window, with no easy way of escape. Before he could plot out an elaborate escape plan, Malachi had jumped on the bed, and with dizzying speed had Mamoru from behind with his arms pinned against his chest. They collapsed awkwardly against the bed, amidst Mamoru's half-hearted cries of "ow, ow, ow!" that were too tainted by giggles to bear much weight.

Neff groaned into his beer. "Bloody hell, get a room you two."

"You're in our room."

"Get another room."

"Just don't send them to my room," Jed pleaded. "Can't you guys just sit down and have a beer like normal people?"

"Yeah, Malachi, there's beer, you want a beer, right?" Mamoru asked in desperation, a good handful of his hair currently coiled in an iron grip that tugged only just enough to keep him immobile.

"I'm not especially thirsty right now."

"No, really, I think you should have some. To, you know, relax a little."

"I'm perfectly relaxed. Don't I seem relaxed to you?"

"If you're so relaxed, think you could release your hold on me now?"

"Um, no."

Zory perched on the corner of the couch with his fruity drink. "No damaging the Prince, Malachi. You break it, you bought it."

Malachi growled in feigned anger as he released the struggling black-haired man with a good natured shove. "Like I could afford that."

Mamoru snorted. "Wouldn't be that hard."

The white-haired man's voice was matter-of-fact, but quite serious, as he said simply, "Yeah it would."

Neff retrieved a small bottle opener from his back pocket and expertly popped the lid off one of the bottles. "Prince, how old are ya?"

Mamoru shifted to lean against a pillow. "Uh, twenty..."

"Close enough." He passed the bottle to Mamoru, who dumbly took it. The label was unrecognizable, probably representing some local microbrewery of choice, but the contents were clearly some form of alcoholic beverage commonly known as beer.

"Isn't that just a little..."

"Hey, in your home country, you're legal." Quipped Jed, ever willing to look at the convoluted side of things.

Zory shrugged. "You don't have to, Prince, but it's not like the police are going to come busting down our door. After tonight, you could probably use a little liquid relaxation."

Mamoru watched as even Malachi commandeered the bottle opener from Neff to open his own drink. "Hey, don't look at me, you think I'm the responsible one all the time?"

The black-haired man sighed--near-death experiences sure made such matters seem trivial--and took a drink. It wasn't half bad.

"So," Zory started, with a smile in Mamoru's direction, "who's going to be the first to say it?"

"What, that I'm sexy?" Jed grinned. "Or does that just go without saying?"

"How about the fact that Mamoru got his ass handed to him by a half-senile, mentally unstable version of himself?" Neff drolled.

Mamoru nearly choked on his beer. "If anybody's ass was being handed anywhere, it sure wasn't mine. You four didn't exactly look like you were in control of the situation yourselves."

"Hey, I don't get that."

"You see, Jed, when a man's ass is..."

"Fuck off. I mean the whole Kunzite thing. I mean, what the hell was he doing there in the first place? If all Endymion wanted was to keep us busy while he did the 'committing murder-suicide-assassination-worst-timewarp-loophole-ever' thing, he could have just stood another clone or two there. And if he wasn't going to do that, he should have at least had my sexy self there too."

"Well there was a bigass barrier covering the whole base that not even a tank could penetrate that he probably needed help maintaining," mused Neff. "I can't imagine that's particularly easy to do while beating someone to death."

"But why the whole Dark Kingdom ruse, is what I want to know," Zory cut in softly. "A few days ago, that was useful just for misleading us from suspecting who was behind this. If we'd had any idea that this was orchestrated by our future selves, the whole thing could have backfired, but we've all been so caught up in our pasts, we had no time to consider such a thing. But tonight, with the King right in front of us... it didn't make sense to go to such lengths. It doesn't fit in with everything else that Endymion was trying to do."

"That's because it wasn't Endymion's doing." All eyes turned to the white-haired king who sat at Mamoru's feet, leaning back on one arm and watching his beer with half-lidded eyes. "He mentioned that Kunzite wanted to do it. I think that maybe, he was trying to tell me something."

"That bad hair colors hurt baby Jesus?"

"Jed, I bet your hair is fuchsia in the future. In fact, possibly the near future. I'm making a trip to the hairdresser's tomorrow." Zory smirked in the mildly unsettling way that only Zory could.

Not even Malachi could keep from snickering a little. "Much to my disappointment, Jed, I don't think so. No, what my rather assholish future incarnation did was force me to face something that I really didn't want to. He made me see what would happen if I... failed to keep it together. What was at stake. But, weirdly enough, he also made me realize that I'm more capable of standing up to him than I thought. I thought that... if I came face-to-face with him, the real him, I would have just crumbled. But even with that, and my shoulder, at the time I was so focused on Mamoru that his being there barely even mattered. He couldn't scare me." Malachi shrugged, feeling slightly self-conscious about his confession. "I guess that's what they mean about facing your fear."

No one really said anything, and in the end, no one really had to. They understood. They knew what it was to face your demons of past and memory and come out of it still--barely--standing. Malachi took a decisive swig of his beer and polished off the remaining dredges that had warmed in his hand. "I think we need more beer."

"I'll drink to that!" Jed chirped, proceeding to catch up with Malachi.

Neff had long since placed aside his empty bottle, and was patiently waiting for just those words. "Who needs another? Zory? You've gotta have more than that, man."

"I do not." Zory held his half-finished bottle defensively.

"You do so, you little lightweight. Prince, please tell me you've done better with yours than the little one."

Whether Mamoru had or not, he was not about to say. Somewhere in the course of the conversation, he had curled up against Malachi's stack of pillows in a way that he had very much wanted to do almost exactly three nights prior, and closed his eyes to listen to the murmur of his friends' voices nearby. Two excruciatingly long days had finally caught up with him, but with the threat gone and his guardians around him, Mamoru found himself in a place where he finally, finally felt safe.

Of course, all his friends were really aware of was that their Prince had fallen asleep, and his beer was at risk of tipping out of his fingers. Malachi soon remedied that by reaching over to pluck the bottle from his hand and, not one to be wasteful, taking a drink. Mamoru had, in fact, not done any better than Zory.

"How come he always falls asleep during the good parts?"

"So he can be awake every for all the bad parts?"

"No wonder he has such a negative outlook on life."

Neff returned from his foray into the kitchen to replenish the stock of alcohol in the room, and soon all had a fresh bottle in hand. He held his aloft, like a tribute to all that was fermented and golden. "I propose a toast."

"To beer!" Jed shouted. "Wonderful, wonderful beer!"

"To almost getting our asses kicked, and coming out in one piece."

"To actually getting our asses kicked! And, technically, losing. Badly."

Zory raised an eyebrow. "If you're talking technicalities, we also won. I mean, considering that we were playing both sides."

"Right. So to winning, and losing, and somehow having that translate to winning anyway. To best friends who fight for you, and most of the time have their asses kicked right alongside you." A snicker was to be heard from all conscious parties in the room. "To the past and the future, and time warps that hurt my head. And to being alive for one more day, just so we can have the most notorious damn job in the world of protecting a dude who has no idea how much he deserves it. Alright, that's it. Drink up, you fuckheads."

/fin 


End file.
